Dinner and Dancing
by avorialair
Summary: The Doctor does Dinner and Dancing. Or so he thinks. Taking a bored Rose back to early twentieth century France, he tries to show her that he's not all about the monsters. But, nothing is ever as simple as it seems... [summary inside][COMPLETE]
1. Define 'Nice'

**_A/N_**_: Well, another Who-fic to add to the collection. Not that I've done many. All of one, in fact. And a oneshot xD This story is set sometime in the first series, so Ninth Doctor obviously. It's sometime after "Father's Day" but before "The Empty Child". Mostly, this reason is because I couldn't be bothered to include Jack and considering they only 'get rid' of him in the final episode of the series, I can't really use those times. Pity, really, because the title of the story actually branched from Rose's comment in "The Doctor Dances": 'He's like you, only with dating and dancing'. I won't have time to update my chapters too much, I'm afraid to admit. I have exams which I'll be studying for, so my chapters may be days or even weeks apart. I'm warning you now...  
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_**Characters**: Rose Tyler, __The Doctor (Ninth), mentions of Mickey Smith and Jackie Tyler.__  
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_**Disclaimer**: I own none of these characters. And if I did, I could never come up with the fantastic storylines anyway, so it's probably just as well :P_

_**Summary**: The Doctor does Dinner and Dancing. Or so he thinks. Taking a bored Rose back to early twentieth century France, he tries to show her that he's not all about the monsters. But, of course, nothing is ever as simple as it seems with the Doctor and before he knows it, they're both caught up in a situation they would rather both avoid. When innocent lives become put in danger, the Doctor must learn the difficult lesson of facing up to what he feels and what the title 'Doctor' really means.  
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_**Story Rating**: K+ so far for the earlier chapters. T from Three onwards but, so far, only for the language.  
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_**Genre**: Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Humour, Mystery, Sci-Fi (Well, it's Doctor who. You can't really not have sci-fi, can you?)_

_**Spoilers**: None, so far. I don't really try and intertwine my stories with previous episodes. I like to think of them as stories on their own :D _

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Chapter I – Define 'Nice'

"So, where to now?"

The question was genuine. They had spent a few Earth days tucked away, floating through the cosmos enjoying each other's company and keeping out of trouble. But the Doctor was getting twitchy now, Rose could tell. He wanted excitement and adventure. He couldn't just sit around and do nothing.

Rose was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the TARDIS control room. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun with gentle wisps of blonde framing her concentrated face. In front of her on the floor were photographs, masses of them, fanned out as if she were putting on a show. In her lap was a photograph book, empty for the time being, but soon to be filled with wonderful, colourful memories. She had picked it up from home the last time they had visited, with the intent on filling it as soon as possible.

The Doctor's presence distracted her, and she glanced up to him.

He was leaning casually against the frame, his arms folded but an inquisitive grin on his face. His close-cropped dark hair was looking particularly lively and his large, blue eyes were wide with wonder. Rose laughed inwardly as she recognised his trusty leather jacket – did he ever take that thing off?

The Doctor unfolded his arms and took a step forward, his eyebrow quirking upwards.

"You want to be careful with things like that," he commented, jerking his head towards Rose's top. It was a bright pink t-shirt with the words, 'Blondes do it better,' scrawled untidily across the chest. "The TARDIS might get jealous."

"Sure it's the TARDIS you're talking about?" Rose chided affectionately, laughing. He rolled his eyes in answer, then strode over to her side and craned his neck over Rose's shoulder at the photographs on the floor.

"You have a room, you know," he stated.

"It's a bit of a mess," Rose admitted, only slightly embarrassed. During her first few weeks in the TARDIS, she had tried to keep everything tidy to set a good example. But old habits die hard, and she was soon back to her old self. What was the point in being someone she wasn't, anyway?

"That one's nice," the Doctor said, reaching out an arm to point at a particularly unflattering photo of Rose and her mother – both drunk – at what looked like a New Year's Eve party. Rose was wearing a questionably short skirt and a rather low-cut top.

"You're kidding," she snorted with contempt. Picking it up, she read aloud the message scribbled on the back. "Rose and Jackie, New Year's, 2002. One for the picture book."

She turned it over in her hands to look at the picture it showed. The two women were leaning on each other for support. Rose swivelled her head to look at the Doctor. "Can't believe I picked this up. Must have got in with all my other pictures." She caught his eye carefully. "Want it?" she added with a grin.

The Doctor sniffed and straightened before wandering absently over to the controls of the TARDIS.

"No thanks," he said matter-of-factly. "Sixteen-year-old girls and their mothers don't really do it for me." He flashed Rose a mischievous grin. "Well," he added cheekily, "not human sixteen-year-olds, anyway."

"Pervert," Rose laughed. The Doctor pretended to look offended, causing her to laugh harder. When she had sobered slightly, she glanced at the devastating picture.

"You said it was nice," she said quietly.

"True. But I also said the universe would implode if Britney Spears got a record deal."

"I like Britney Spears!" Rose replied incredulously.

"I know. Your singing in the shower is enough to tell me that."

Rose blushed as red and heatedly as lava and suddenly became very interested in a photograph showing her mother and a group of relatives huddled on a sofa in their front living room. She muttered something about 'invasion of privacy', to which the Doctor let out an uncontrolled bark of laughter.

He crouched down by a panel on the controls, frowning as he opened a hatch and poked his sonic screwdriver inside. The lights in the control room dimmed for a moment, as if the TARDIS were protesting. The Doctor ignored it.

"So. Come on, then," he said after a while, turning back to Rose. She still hadn't put any photographs in her album.

"What?" she asked distractedly, not looking at him.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Oh. Dunno. Can't you just... pick somewhere?"

The Doctor got to his feet and felt a frown crease his forehead. She couldn't be bored already, could she? He remembered how excited she had been when she first came aboard the TARDIS, how her suggestions had been wild and original and how she couldn't wait to get into another exciting battle with the Doctor by her side. What happened to that Rose? Because the woman sat in front of him now in jeans and a t-shirt was certainly lacking that element.

"Well, I usually pick up on a distress call or you suggest somewhere. There's no point in me deciding. I'm the pilot, it's no fun."

Rose sighed and shook her head before getting to her feet, letting the photograph album slide off her lap to the floor. Obviously, she would have to wait to complete it. She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned to face the Doctor.

"How about somewhere... nice?"

Nice? That was it? That was all she had to offer? Well, she needn't have bothered in that case. Since when had the Doctor done 'nice', anyway? Nice was boring. He didn't do 'nice', and Rose should know that.

"Nice?" he questioned with disbelief. "Define 'nice'."

"Dunno," Rose replied helpfully with a shrug. "But it's all a bit samey, isn't it? I mean, we go somewhere, there's a problem, one or other of us almost dies and then you save the day. Then we start all over again."

"That's not true," the Doctor countered defensively. "I seem to remember that the first day I met you, _you_ were the one that saved the day. I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

A smile passed fleetingly over Rose's face, but it was gone when she replied.

"You know what I mean. I just want something new."

New? Could he risk new? He had been purposefully keeping all of their encounters Earth-based in case it was all a bit too much for her and she decided that time-travel wasn't really her cup of tea. He didn't want to scare her, after all, and he couldn't bear the thought of her leaving. Yet, here she was, asking for more. She truly was fantastic.

But the Doctor also got the feeling that it wasn't their destinations Rose was questioning, but the manner of their adventures. In which case, she was right – it was time for something new.

"Okay," he conceded with a smile. She almost did a double take at his answer.

"What?"

"Oh – kay," he said slowly, as if talking to a four-year-old. Then he grinned. "You're right. It's been a bit hectic lately. I guess we could go for something easy, no danger involved."

At this, her face lit up. He recognised the enthusiastic look in her eye and hoped that she didn't think he was just giving in to the request for her. Because he wasn't, he told himself. He could do with a break too, right? A nice bit of culture? He was certain of it; and he knew just the place.

"How about..." he said thoughtfully, yanking down hard on a lever before quickly darting around to the other side of the controls to reach for a button, "... twentieth century France. That sound good?"

"That sounds wicked," Rose declared happily with a wide grin.

The Doctor chuckled; she would have to work on her dialect. Oh, and her clothes too. There was no way he could let her wander around 1920s France in her contemporary London clothes. It just wouldn't work, especially if they wanted to remain inconspicuous. He hesitated before pressing the button his hand hovered over.

"What?" Rose asked questioningly.

"You'll need to change," the Doctor replied. He caught her eye, then added reluctantly, "And, come to that, so will I."

Rose couldn't help it. A burst of laughter escaped her lips and she raised a hand to her mouth to cover it. Her eyes were laughing as she spoke.

"You? Change clothes to fit in?" She giggled more, practically doubling over with laughter. "You didn't even change when met Charles Dickens. What's new now?"

"Nothing," the Doctor replied defensively, folding his arms over his chest. "I just thought it might be nice if I made the effort. But if you don't think it's worth it, then that's fine."

"No, it is," Rose assured, quickly stifling her laughter with a snort. "Please?"

"Nope," the Doctor replied cheerfully. He pointed down the corridor of the TARDIS. "You've blown it now. Missed your chance. So hurry along and get changed – I won't wait forever."

"Fine," Rose half sulked. She crouched down next to her photographs, picked them up and trundled off to her room, her arms laden. She opened her door, flung the book and photos down on the bed and then turned to her wardrobe. She was pleased to see when she opened the door that the TARDIS had already picked out something suitable for her to wear. It had a knack for that. It was a white, silken affair which began at the nape of the neck and swept gracefully to the floor, the lower half bunching in pleated folds. The dress had tight-fitting sleeves and was covered with beautiful beads, like pearls, which were sewn delicately into the fabric. It was one of the most beautiful things Rose had ever seen; it reminded her of a fairy's wing.

She took it graciously from the hanger and thanked the TARDIS out loud. She then stripped off her clothes and slung the dress over her head. She had no idea if that was how she was supposed to put it on, but it seemed to work. And, of course, it was a perfect fit. She then undid the bun in her hair and shook her head from side to side, letting her blonde mass bounce of its own free will. Rose seated herself down in front of the mirror on her makeup table and got to work.

It was twenty minutes later when the Doctor heard the tap of heels echoing down the TARDIS corridor. He had impatiently been pacing the control room, thinking, and making no effort to change his attire for their visit. Where would he take her? How long would they stay? Could he really get away with jeans and a leather jacket? He was just about at the point of wondering how long it could possibly take to get changed when Rose appeared in the doorway at his elbow.

He turned, startled, and was blown away by what he saw. Rose had really made an effort. Her hair had been tidied up and was held back in a tight bun, with two free strands of hair left to bounce either side of her perfect, porcelain face. Her make-up was subtle but still accentuated her long eyelashes, rosy cheeks and full, red lips. The dress she was wearing flattered every curve of her body but remained elegant and sophisticated. She was, in ever sense of the word, beautiful. Even more so than she had been in nineteenth-century England. And the Doctor was lost for words. He actually couldn't speak, couldn't even tell her that she looked exquisite, despite being a human. He could only stand, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock and his words caught in his throat.

Rose smiled shyly and caught his eyes. "TARDIS do a good job on the dress, then?"

The Doctor cleared his throat and blinked hurriedly, as if awakening from a trance. He reached down and caught her hands with his before twirling her around.

"You look amazing," he said proudly. Then he grinned. "And you'll be the envy of every woman in all of Bordeaux."

Rose's entire face lit up.

"We're going to Bordeaux?" she asked, as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

"Not quite," he replied, shaking his head. "Close, though. It's a little town called Saint-Émilion, about thirty kilometres from Bordeaux. Lovely little place; you'll love it."

The Doctor let go of her hands and made his way back over to the TARDIS controls. He looked up at her before he started his work. "Better hold on to something."

Rose didn't need telling twice. She grabbed at a railing that ran the circumference of the room. The Doctor hit buttons and pulled violently at levers, whooping and cooing excitedly as he did. Rose grinned as she watched him and the TARDIS lurched and crashed with the effect of his meddling. The final impact made Rose lose her grip on the railing entirely, and she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. The Doctor, well practiced at controlling his centre of balance, merely wobbled a little. But he crossed the room and offered the young Londoner his hand. She took it with a grin and was back on her feet in no time.

The Doctor offered his arm.

"Shall we?" he asked surreptitiously.

"We shall," Rose confirmed, taking it.

He grinned as he led the way to the door. Carefully, he opened it and the two of them stepped out into the welcoming air. He had landed the TARDIS in a dip of a hill, out of sight of the little town that lay beyond. In the countryside, it stuck out like a sore thumb; but no one would be coming this way to see it. A cobbled path snaked down the hill in front of them, and they walked it to the brow of the hill. In the growing dark the lights of the town twinkled gently up at them, each like a little, winking, colourful eye. The Doctor heard a gasp of wonder escape Rose's mouth and couldn't help feeling just a little smug.

"Welcome to Saint-Émilion," the Doctor said happily, putting his hand out across the town as if he were a tourism officer. He began to lead Rose along the path and down the hill. "It's June 12th, 1924. Culture is at its height and that little town down there holds more secrets and wisdom than a hundred young school girls."

Rose looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Is that really true, Doctor?"

"No idea," he shrugged with a laugh. "Sounded good, though. Tell you what; I'll race you there."

"You're joking if you think I can run in these shoes," Rose stated, indicating delicate, golden high-heeled shoes on her feet. The Doctor gave them a quick glance before looking back at her with mischief in his bright blue eyes. He bit his bottom lip and those eyes of his sparkled like a fresh stream.

"All right then," he said, fighting off the urge to laugh. He edged closer to Rose. "I'll carry you!"

Before Rose could even protest, she found herself being swept up into his arms as if she were light as a feather. She laughed as he shifted her in his arms so that he supported her fully behind her knees and lower back. On instinct, she reached her arms up around behind his neck.

"Geez, Rose," he complained in his Northern edge, pretending to huff and puff. "I think someone needs to lay off the chips."

"Oi, cheeky!" she laughed, giving him a playful punch in the chest.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he advised, grinning. "I might drop you."

She shrieked with laughter as he mimicked losing his grip and dropping her to the floor.

"So what now?" Rose asked as he began to follow the path down the hill with her in his arms. He seemed well practiced, as it was surprisingly comfortable, lying there in his arms. He stopped walking for a moment and looked at her intently.

"How about dinner?" he asked earnestly.

Rose beamed. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope!" the Doctor laughed as he began to stalk down the hill, this time avoiding the path and taking the long, winding way down the soft grass. "I've got you hostage now. So you can't escape."

"Better be a gentleman, then, so I won't have to try," Rose teased.

"I," he replied defiantly, nearly tripping over a large rock on the grass, "am always a gentleman. You can ask any of my dates."

"Oh, so this is a date, is it?" Rose asked, her voice mischievous and daring. The Doctor glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

"We'll see," he replied with a grin. "Depends how well you behave. But if you expect me to be carrying you back up this hill, I'd lay off the chocolate cake."

"You need to work on your manners, Doctor," Rose said, not in the least bit offended. "It's no wonder you haven't had a date in years."

The Doctor looked at her incredulously. "Right. For that, Rose Tyler, I am going to make you so dizzy you won't be able to find your way back to the TARDIS."

He began to spin on the side of the hill, his feet performing perfect little circles. It was difficult to keep his balance, but he managed. All around him, the colours blurred and merged together in the growing darkness, until all he could see was the woman in his arms. He was laughing. She was too, and as their laughter rose unanimously into the air around them and the grip around his neck tightened, the Doctor began to loosen his grip on Rose.

"No!" she cried with laughter as she felt herself slipping.

"Give up?"

"Yeah," Rose choked.

"Good." The Doctor stopped spinning and, very gently, lowered Rose to the floor and out of his arms. "And you can walk the rest of the way, too."

Rose pouted, causing the Doctor to roll his eyes. Then he grinned and held his hand out. She took it, their fingers linking.

"Now then," he said brightly as he began to lead her back towards the path and down the rest of the trail. "Time to show you the town. Oh, and you owe me a dance."

"Says who?"

The Doctor flashed her a wicked grin. "The rules! I do the dinner, you do the dancing."

"Right," she laughed sarcastically. She fell into step beside him as they descended, already more than half way down. "You'd better not step on my feet, though."

"Scouts honour," he replied, holding up the salute with his free hand.

"You're never a scout!"

"Well, no. But it doesn't matter; I'm so much better."

Rose gave him an affectionate shove with her shoulder, causing the Doctor to step off the path.

"You want to watch yourself, you do," she commented lightly as his grip on her hand tightened. "Any more up yourself and you'll be – "

"I think we've had quite enough of that sort of talk, Miss Tyler," the Doctor cut across with mock reproach. "Best behaviour, remember. And if you're lucky, I might let you stay more than one night."

"Same goes for you," she replied with a soft smile that danced in her eyes. He looked at her, and returned it, tightening the gap between them.

"Fair deal. Now come on. There's something I want to show you."

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"Doctor John smith and his lovely assistant Rose Tyler," the Doctor stated factually to the hotel attendant at the reception desk. The pair had followed the cobbled path all the way to the town, where Rose had been enthralled in watching a street player who was sitting strumming beautiful music from his guitar. When the Doctor had finally managed to pull her away, he had led her down a beautifully narrow street with the lamps twinkling at them gently. The two had walked fairly slowly, enjoying the warm summer air and each other's company. The Doctor had told a joke that use to go down well on Gallifrey and it made Rose laugh so hard that passers by began to give them little, amused glances.

The Doctor had pulled Rose close to this side and said quietly in her ear, "Don't you go splitting that dress with all your laughing – I'm not going all the way back to the TARDIS just so you can change."

That had, of course, only made her laugh harder.

Eventually, he had found the hotel that he wanted to check in to. The couple were now standing at the reception desk in the dreary, bland hallway. There was a door behind the desk, leading into an office, and a flight of spiralled staircases wound their way up towards the right. Through a pair of glass double-doors there lay a restaurant. But, for the moment, the Doctor and Rose were battling their way into a reservation with nothing but the psychic paper and the Doctor's gaudy attitude.

The receptionist, whose nametag read 'Pierre Duval', sniffed loudly. He was a tall man with messy, copper hair and dark brown eyes. No more than twenty-five, the red suit he was wearing was very unflattering.

"I do not see a reservation," he said, his accent coated thickly in a French lining. He peered through gold-rimmed spectacles at a book on the desk in front of him.

"Well, you must have lost it then," the Doctor replied brightly, flashing a secretive grin at Rose. "It's all right, though. I don't mind booking again."

"Yes, well... it appears we are fully booked," the receptionist sneered, his voice mocking. Rose didn't like him, but the Doctor was not to be deterred.

"That's strange. I didn't think you were. Let me see..." he said, raising himself up on the counter with his hands to peer over to the reservation book.

"Sir!" the receptionist protested heatedly. "Customers are not permitted behind the counter. Kindly control yourself!"

Rose bit her top lip in embarrassment and looked away as her cheeks filled with colour. The Doctor had no clue when it came to social tact – and he had told _her_ to be well behaved!

"But you have a free room," the Doctor persisted, lowering himself again but putting a finger on the book. "Right there. See?"

The receptionist looked. Sure enough, there was one room free. He was certain that they had been fully booked before; but perhaps the occupier of the room had checked out whilst someone else was on his shift. Perhaps he had just overlooked it. But whatever the reason, he had no alternative but to let these two miscreants check into the hotel. If they had the money.

"Very well," he sighed with disdain. Pierre glanced from the young woman dressed far too scandalously for her own good to the controversial man, who looked about twice her age. Their hands were fastened together like two young lovers, but there was no ring on the girl's wedding finger; it was just as well he was not allowed to make personal comments about the customers.

"For that room, it will be 1,933 francs," Pierre said with a hint of triumph. By the looks of them, they wouldn't be able to afford half that.

"Oh?" the Doctor questioned inquisitively. "Your prices have dropped. Why's that? Business been bad, has it?"

Pierre cleared his throat, but did not answer.

"Okay then," he Doctor smirked. "Cash do it?"

The receptionist watched in horrified awe as the strangely clad man reached into the depths of his coat and produced the exact right change, down to the last cent.

"Very good, sir," was all he was able to stutter as he mentally counted the money and handed over the key to the room. "Let me find someone to show you to your room."

"No need," the Doctor replied, shaking his head. "I know my way around well enough. Good night, Pierre Duval. Oh, and," he paused at the side of the desk before heading up the stairs to their room. "We'd like to book dinner. For two. Half past eight."

He dug around in his jacket for the necessary money to over the costs and threw that down onto the counter along with the rest.

"Half past eight," Pierre repeated. "I'll make the arrangements."

The Doctor nodded, smiled, and then the he and Rose tumbled up the stairs, Rose only just managing to hold back her laughter until they were out of earshot. At the top, she burst into peels of it, holding her sides for comfort.

"The look on that guy's face when you leant over the counter!" she cried with mirth as they made their way along the carpeted corridor onto which the staircase led.

"I know," the Doctor grinned back. "Good, wasn't it?"

"Cocky, more like."

"Got us a room, though, didn't it?" he asked as they stopped outside a white door with a bronzed number '27' on the front. This, according to the rasp of the key, was their room.

"It was fantastic," Rose said quietly.

The Doctor, who had begun to put the key in the lock of the room, stopped and turned to look at her, his eyes boring softly but intensely into hers. He smiled. Not his cocky I-am-the-king-of-the-universe smile, but a sweet, gentle smile with made his entire face soften.

"I'm glad you think so," he replied tenderly. "There's more where that came from. Lots more."

"I hope so," Rose replied before she could stop herself. The words just sort of slipped out of her mouth without consent. But the Doctor took it in good humour and reached to cup her face affectionately with his hand. Rose couldn't believe that this easy action, seemingly so simple for the Doctor, could make her hold her breath with anticipation. But he dropped his hand quickly afterwards, completely unaware how it had made Rose's heart leap.

He grinned and slipped the key into the lock.

The door opened into an expansive sitting room. There was one cream sofa in the middle, sitting on a dusty red rug. The carpet was cream too, as were the walls in the room. Across from them, on the opposite side from the door, there were wonderful French windows which opened out onto the balcony outside. On the right wall, a luscious fire was crackling happily in its grate. The mantelpiece above it was splendid, made from what looked like mahogany wood. Soft lights on the walls filled the room with a wonderful golden haze. It was serene.

The Doctor stepped into the middle of the room, admiring the work.

"Not bad," he said at last, turning back to Rose, who was still standing in the doorway, lost for word. "You're not going to stand there all night, are you?"

"I... It's lovely," she said finally. She'd always wanted to stay in a really posh hotel. In the middle of France. In 1924.

She didn't really notice as the Doctor shrugged and made his way to the final wall, which sported double doors that slid open sideways. These too were cream. The Doctor pushed the doors apart and stopped dead at what he saw. He suppressed a laugh.

"Oh Ro-ose," he sang out behind him, gaining the attention of his companion. She joined him at his side but, unlike the Doctor, could not see the funny side and gasped.

"Oh," she said, embarrassed. There was only one bed. A single bed.

The Doctor, cheerful as always, turned to her with a grin.

"I'll flip you for it," he said jokingly. Rose flushed.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked seriously, ignoring his joke and looking away from him.

"You take it," the Doctor offered. "I've no use for sleep anyway. You'll need it more than I will when the time comes."

"You sure?"

"No, I'm going to make you sleep in the bath," he replied sarcastically. Then, more definitely, "Of course I'm sure. Honestly Rose, I won't be needing it."

She gave him a quizzical look. "What makes you say that?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he turned and made his way over to the diamond-leaded windows which gave a view out on to the balcony. Opening them, the Doctor stepped into the warm, night air, inhaling the rich fragrance around him.

"You have to see this, Rose," he called back, walking forwards and putting his hands on the railing. The balcony was not large, but it was big enough to hold a feathery tree in a flowerpot at either end. The high railing, which swept all the way around the perimeter for safety, was white and delicate. From where he stood, the Doctor could see the streets of the town spread out before him with twilight wanderers enjoying the evening. The narrow roads were paved with the soft, golden light of the shops and houses that surrounded them, and all around there seemed to be an air of calmness. Sounds of people walking and talking rose up to meet him and that, mingled with the comforting smell of summer in the air, made him feel so at home that at that moment in time, he would not have been too disappointed if someone had told him the TARDIS had malfunctioned and he had to stay here.

The Doctor was so taken in with the scene, he barely even noticed Rose's presence at his side. But he turned his head to smile at her and was pleased to see she was watching him. He held her gaze for a moment before flicking it back to the street. Slowly, he extended his arm and wrapped it protectively around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Rose had the sudden urge to lay her head on the Doctor's shoulder; but she refrained. She felt the grip around her waist tighten comfortingly, and she smiled.

"I wouldn't bring just anyone here, I hope you know," the Doctor said quietly, his eyes taking in the street. He was surprised at how easy it was to be here with her, without worrying about what she was thinking or how she was feeling. He knew she was happy.

"I know," Rose said, interrupting his thoughts.

He grinned down at her.

"I only take the best. So I may as well add some culture in, right?"

"Right," Rose replied, leaning into the Doctor's shoulder casually. Of all the places and times she could choose to be, or had ever been, this was fast becoming the favourite. There was nowhere else she'd rather be. Not at home in front of the TV with her Mum and other Godawful relatives. Not in Mickey's arms as he told her how much he missed her and begged her not to go off again. Not even in the TARDIS control room, watching the Doctor cackle with delight as he set them on their adventures. No, she would have chosen a balcony in France and the Doctor's arms any day.

"Is this weird for you?" Rose asked suddenly.

"The things I've shown you in my life and you ask if _this_ is weird?" the Doctor laughed. He tapped Rose's head with the index finger of his spare hand. "Have you got a screw loose in there, or something?"

Rose grinned, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I was just wondering if you did this kind of thing often, tha's all."

"No," the Doctor replied, shaking his head. "Not often. I used to, though. This sort of thing used to be quite my speciality."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The Doctor glanced at the watch on his wrist. "It's about time we went down for dinner. You set to go?"

"Just let me pop to the ladies'," Rose said with a winning smile. The Doctor let her out of his arms with a chuckle.

"Off you go, then. I'll meet you by reception." He winked at her. "Don't be late."

She did a small courtesy, to which the Doctor replied by breaking into a huge, amused grin. Then she made her way to the bathroom and the Doctor, who first of all checked that he had the key to the room, made his way downstairs.

A quick glance in the mirror told Rose that she looked good enough for dinner. She gave her hands a quick wash under the tap, hardly being able to believe where she actually was and that the Doctor was about to take her out for dinner. She had just reached for the towel to dry her hands when she heard a noise from outside. It was difficult to tell what it was, but it sounded very much like someone trying to smother a small cough. Rose frowned and listened harder. But all she could hear now was the steady drip of the tap in the bath and the rising voices of people outside her window. Shrugging and putting the entire thing down to imagination, she replaced the towel, gave herself a final, quick glance in the mirror above the sink and then unlocked the bathroom door. She walked into the bedroom and noticed movement from the corner of her eye. She turned to look and was just in time to see the door leading into the hall close with a light click. Rose frowned. Had the Doctor only just left? He must have done, for Rose spotted something resting on the bed which hadn't been there before. Nestled in the luxurious pillow she saw a blank envelope. Reaching for it, she took out the paper that was folded inside it and read.

_My Dear,_

_You look particularly splendid this evening. You will have to let me make this a night to remember, for the both of us. If you accept this invitation, please be kind enough to meet with me in the restaurant at eight thirty five. If not, well, I'll be seeing you later._

_All my love,_

That was all it said. There was no name left, but the Doctor always was cryptic like that. Rose smiled. 'A night to remember'. What could he mean? Putting all thoughts that would get her banned from an 18+ film out of her head, she put the letter back on the bed and walked slowly to the door. Feeling rather like an excited schoolgirl on a first date, she opened the door and made her way into the evening beyond, her head spinning with all the promises the evening had to hold.


	2. A Little Bit of Culture

_**A/N**: I realise this story is rather slow starting, and I apologise. The most of you prefer action over discription and dialogue (well, I know I do), but I just thought I'd better build it all up a bit first. Thanks to my first reviewer,_ **YamiKITG**, _who must have got in with a review within half an hour of the first chapter going up. I was touched. But now, on with the chapter; hooray!_

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Chapter II – A Little Bit of Culture

The Doctor was waiting in reception. He was ignoring the snotty looks Pierre was giving him, and had his arms folded in a sulk. It was just the bathroom, for crying out loud. How long could she take? Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. Perhaps he should have just stayed in the TARDIS and had the equivalent of a TV dinner. Perhaps he was wasting his time.

"Hey. I thought you were meeting me in the restaurant?"

Or perhaps this was the best idea he'd ever had.

The Doctor turned to find Rose at his elbow. How did she do that? He'd never even heard her coming.

"No," he frowned. "Reception. I told you. One of these days, you might want to actually start listening with those ears of yours."

But rather laugh or smile, like he intended, Rose frowned and looked a little dejected.

"Oh," was all she said.

The Doctor sighed and surveyed her for a moment. She looked tired, as if in the five minutes that she had been away from him she had aged on the inside. It was quite surreal.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked quietly, worriedly.

She cast him a strange look, a mixture of confusion and concern.

"'Course," she replied, though he got the feeling her grin was forced. "It's not every day I get taken out by the Doctor."

"Come on then." He offered his hand again, and she took it. How many times had he done that today? He couldn't count. Time with Rose seemed to merge together like it had no meaning. She slept when she was tired, ate when she was hungry but other than that, there were no restraints on their life. All he could do was watch and hope that she was not getting too distracted and tired from their life. But since when had he become so worried about the well being of his travellers? It was up to them, wasn't it? Too many questions were whizzing around his head as he led her into the restaurant.

A short, stout man with a rounded face and equally rounded belly greeted them. He was balding on top but his eyes were bright and young behind his glasses. He gave the two a friendly smile as he approached them. At least this man had more courtesy than the receptionist, the Doctor noted.

"I will be your waiter for this evening," the man said, looking kindly from Rose to the Doctor. "Table for two?"

"Please," the Doctor confirmed. They were led to a cosy table by the window, with a candle glowing happily in the middle. The chairs were comfortable and cushioned and the Doctor held one out for Rose so she could sit on it. She obliged graciously whilst he then took the seat opposite her. He leant forward, resting his head on his curled hand.

"I shall give you a moment to look at the menu," the waiter said cheerfully, before disappearing off in the throng of the restaurant. Rose cast a look to her right out of the window. It was all fairly calm and beautiful, but nothing stood out. The musician she had stopped to look at earlier had moved and was sat in a doorway across from them, still strumming on his guitar. She watched him for a moment or two, as if caught up in the song she couldn't hear.

"Rose."

Her name was said softly, and she started, looking back to the Doctor. He sat quietly, his eyes on her, his hands lowered to the table. Very slowly, he reached out and took her hand with his, caressing it gently over the tabletop. She said nothing. She could never tell if the Doctor knew the full effects of how he treated her, or if maybe it was just his custom to make her heart flutter. Perhaps that was just how he was.

His gaze was intense and didn't leaver hers for a moment.

This was it, she thought. This was when he was going to tell her how he really felt about her and that travelling the universe had never been so fun. How he couldn't stand another second without her in his life for the long haul. He was going to tell her that he had fallen completely head-over-heels in love with her and that he would give anything to have her feel the same way. The grip on her hand tightened and Rose felt her breath catch. This was the beginning of the rest of her life.

"Are you all right?" he asked casually. "You've been quiet for a while. That's not like you."

Oh. Bother, bother, bother, damn and blast. Why did she always read his signals wrong?

Rose shook herself and retracted her hand from his, to which, for a moment, she thought he looked rather hurt. But he didn't complain.

"Yeah," she replied awkwardly, raising a hand to her hair to tuck one of the strands of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine."

"Okay. If you say so."

He grinned at her, his blue eyes lighting up. Rose sighed again, but quickly put up a barrier to pretend she felt the same way. How could he not see she wasn't fine? How could he, the Doctor, so clever, intelligent and at most times understanding, not see through her defences? It wasn't as if she were trying particularly hard to hide herself from him. But then, she thought miserably, maybe he just didn't want to see. The entire thing was too much to think about, so she stopped trying to analyse his actions and motives, picked up the menu and picked something for dinner.

After a while, she noticed his eyes peering at her from over the top of his menu, which he quite clearly wasn't reading.

"What?" she asked, a touch of exasperation in her voice.

"Nothing," he answered a little guiltily, as though he hadn't meant to get caught. Which was ridiculous, as that was precisely what he had meant. "I just wondered if you liked this."

"What?"

"This. Being here." He refrained from adding 'with me' on the end. It would have meant something he didn't want it to mean. Not yet.

"Yeah," Rose replied distractedly, casting her eyes back down to her menu. "It's really nice."

The Doctor frowned, but did not persist. He didn't care what she said, she certainly did not seem 'fine' and this was not 'nice'. There was something in the air he was missing, but he'd be damned if he were going to let it ruin their evening. He had promised her a night out, easy, no danger and no interruptions. And what was he doing? Sitting in the corner of a restaurant – albeit, a pleasant and posh restaurant, but a restaurant all the same – trying to figure out why she seemed so miserable. Oh, the troubles of a Time Lord.

The waiter returned a few minutes later. He took down their orders and bustled away. Ten minutes later, he returned with a bottle of red wine the Doctor had requested for their table. Carefully, the waiter poured out two glasses and handed each of the couple a glass and then wandered off again. Rose took a tentative sip. The spice of the flavour danced on her tongue like fireworks and she smiled as the cooling liquid descended down her throat. The Doctor watched her carefully before taking a swig of his own. He wasn't a usual drinker but, at times like these, it somehow seemed to fit very nicely with the atmosphere.

The Doctor put his glass down and ran his tongue over his teeth contemplatively. Then he raised an eyebrow and looked at Rose, his mouth thin.

"You may as well say it," he said with a sigh, leaning back into his chair. Rose looked at him with a frown that was deeper than the Grand Canyon.

"Say what?"

"Whatever it is you can't decide to say. I'm not getting any younger."

Rose gave a small shrug, averting his gaze. The dress, which had seemed so comfortable to begin with, was beginning to pinch at her sides.

"S'nothing," she murmured.

The Doctor leant forwards on his hands.

"Yes it is. Don't lie to me, Rose; you know I'll get it out of you one way or another."

He began to tip the corners of his mouth up into a smile. But when he saw Rose wasn't doing the same, he gave up trying to amuse her.

"I don't really know," she replied honestly. "I just feel like I'm a bit... lost."

"Lost?" the Doctor inquired with confusion. "Lost how?"

"Like I don't belong anywhere."

Oh. Yes, that feeling. He recognised it. Felt it every single day, in fact, and had to fight daily against it just to keep moving, sometimes. It was the curse of being a time-traveller. Free to move in between realms of the impossible but equally cursed with having to detach yourself from it all, become a lone wanderer. He listened carefully as Rose continued to explain the feeling that he recognised all too well.

"It's like, I go to these places with all this weird stuff happenin', and I can help and it feels great. But what about afterwards? Where do I go? I don't want to go back to London, or anything," she added quickly. "I love the TARDIS and being with you and all that. It's just... sometimes, it's not enough, is it?"

Her brown eyes flicked up to his and held his gaze. He sighed with a smile.

"It never gets easier, y'know," the Doctor said sadly. "As long as you're with me, you'll never feel like you belong anywhere. 'Cause you don't. You're like this mystical being who becomes a part of reality every now and then, but other than that, you're outside it. Outside time and space. And, yeah, it's lonely. And that feeling'll never go away."

But, oddly enough, Rose shook her head.

"That's not what I meant," she replied. The Doctor frowned, confused. "It's like I was saying before on the TARDIS, when you asked where I wanted to go and I couldn't think of anywhere. We visit home and Mum's all, "I've missed you so much, come and have a cuppa and tell me where you've been," an' I can't really tell her much. 'Cause I haven't really been anywhere. You told me I could see the stars. But it's all a bit..."

She trailed off with apprehension. She had no idea how the Doctor would react. That was if he could understand; she certainly couldn't. It was difficult putting how she felt into words, especially when she was trying to come up with a reason behind it as well.

The Doctor had been watching her whilst she was explaining, and now he gave a slight smile, a small shrug and cleared his throat.

"I get it," he said at last with a nod. "It's not enough. What I've shown you isn't enough. You want new. Brand new." He leant towards her over the candle flame and said in a voice, barely more than a whisper, "Somewhere that isn't Earth."

After a moment, Rose nodded slowly; and the Doctor broke into a fantastic grin.

"You, Rose Tyler, are fantastic," he replied happily. "I spend all this time trying to keep you with familiar stuff so you won't get scared and run away, and all this time, you wanted to see more. I should have known."

Rose couldn't help the smile, a real smile, that spread across her face.

"So, like, you knew? There's more?"

"'Course!" the Doctor nodded. "I just didn't want to scare you. Take you too far from home."

"Doctor," Rose said slowly. He caught her eye.

"What?"

"You should know by now. The TARDIS and you are my home."

His hearts skipped a beat. _He_ was her home? The TARDIS was her home? Was she serious? He had had trouble enough coming to terms with it being _his_ home. Without Gallifrey it was all he had, after all. But he didn't have a choice. It was the TARDIS or nothing. Yet here was this wonderful, creative, funny, intelligent young woman – who _did_ have a choice – admitting freely to the fact that the place she had lived in for the past few months was where she'd rather spend the rest of her life than back in London with her friends and family. She'd chosen him over everything else. Again. It was incredible.

He blinked slowly, picked up his wine glass and gave her a silent toast.

"Thank you," he said quietly before taking a swig.

"What for?"

"For making me the happiest man alive."

Rose was gob-smacked. She actually froze. Did he have any idea of the impact those words would usually have from one human to another? She assumed not, as he was grinning into his glass before turning around in time to see their food arrive. She couldn't speak as their food was lowered in front of them or as they began to eat. Did she honestly make him so happy? That was an achievement in itself.

They ate together chatting and laughing like the best of friends. They giggled over previous adventures and wondered at what was to come. The food was amazing. Rose had never tasted anything so delicious and luscious and as the food exploded into wonderful and new flavours in her mouth, she knew that she could happily spend the rest of her life like this. Her and the Doctor, adventure after adventure, always together and always keeping each other alive.

It was much later, when both were too full to move much, that they began to make their ways back upstairs. Despite the Doctor's complaints, Rose had gone for a particularly luxurious chocolate cake for dessert. Giving into temptation, the Doctor had ended up sharing the entire thing with her (which, she though, was just as well, considering it was far too generous for her to eat with any sense of modesty) and had enjoyed every minute of it. But it wasn't the pudding he was appreciating as they sat together at the end of the meal, but the company and the candlelight. Who'd have thought that Rose would have been the one to bring out this side of him so easily?

They tumbled into the room giggling. Rose had had far too much to drink and, though the Doctor was high on the atmosphere, he had drunk nowhere near as much as her and was consequently in more of a controllable state. She practically had to lean on him as he stuck the key in the lock and flung the door open. The lights were still on and the fire still crackling.

Rose collapsed into the sofa in a rather undignified position, her arms and legs practically everywhere.

"That was the best meal I have ever had," she groaned, closing her eyes. The Doctor stood at the foot of the sofa biting his lips. He saw her face relax as her eyes closed.

"Oh no you don't," he said, darting quickly to the side and grabbing her wrist to pull her upright. "You can't go to sleep yet. You still owe me a dance."

"Doctor..." she complained with a pathetic laugh, her head lolling backwards. She refused to open her eyes.

"You only get one chance to dance with the Doctor," he said daringly. That would get her. He was right, and her eyes sprang open. The fire in the grate was reflected in them and it made her eyes dance and shimmer in the illusion. He grabbed her hand with his, and her waist with his other and, though there was no music, he began to waltz around the living room with her in his arms. She soon picked up and followed suit, her feet entwining perfectly with his as they turned and twirled in the comfort of the living room.

"Not bad," he said after a while, impressed. He looked at her and grinned. "For an ape."

"Watch it," she said through a hiccup. He laughed. "This _ape_ has had far more to drink than you and still dances better."

He gave her an affectionate shove, but did not let go of her hand. She turned her beginnings of a fall into a graceful twirl, and the dress she was wearing danced gracefully out to the side as she did so. Then, Rose closed her eyes mid step and started to yawn.

"Go on, then," the Doctor grinned, his eyes watching her carefully. "Off to bed with you. You're no good to me tired."

She smiled tiredly and turned towards the bedroom. But instead, she made it no further than the couch and collapsed into the welcoming cushions. The Doctor rolled his eyes, then walked over to her. Crouching down, he slid one arm behind her neck and the other behind her knees and, for the second time that evening, scooped her into his arms. She shrieked with drunken laughter as he dodged around the sofa, walked into the bedroom and laid her carefully down on the tidy sheets. He groaned with feigned pain as he let her slide out of his arms and straightened up, rubbing the lower part of his back.

"I told you to lay off that cake," he chided gently with a grin. Lying on her back, she opened her eyes for a brief second to look at him.

"You can talk," she replied through a yawn.

Her eyes closed again. The Doctor smiled and then, quite casually, bent his head down and gave her a kiss on her forehead, between her eyes.

"Good night, my stupid little ape," he whispered with affection, tucking one of her wild strands of hair behind her ear.

"I heard that, Doctor," she said, but did not open her eyes. He gave a small chuckle, then stepped towards the doors of the room. He stood, for a moment or two, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded and his eyes watching the sleeping figure of the woman on the bed. She had been fantastic tonight. And part of him loved her for it.

He reached for the switch to turn the lights off and then, very quietly so as not to disturb his sleeping lady, he slid the doors closed and snuck back into the comfort of the living room.

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He hadn't sat by the fire long. Half an hour, if that. As well as a sofa in the middle of the room there was an armchair positioned perfectly towards both the warm fire and balcony. The Doctor had sat in this, his back to the door, so when the first knock had come he thought he was hearing things. The second was harder and had more purpose, which told the Doctor that there really was someone there. He cast a casual glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. Eleven o'clock. Why were they being called on this late? He got up and went over to the door, opening it with a flourish. His eyebrow quirked upwards into an arch as he saw before him an abandoned catering trolley. There was a silver metal dish resting patiently with a lid over it and, resting in an ice bucket, an expensive looking bottle of champagne. The Doctor poked his head out into the corridor but could see no one. Shrugging, he pulled the trolley into the room behind him and shut the door.

The Doctor circled the trolley like a vulture, his eyes narrowed. He had not ordered anything from room service, so what was this? A free bottle of champagne for being the thousandth guest? Somehow, he doubted it. But it was not the wine that was bothering him so much as the plate of food. At least, he assumed it was food. Nothing else was served like that. Or, at the very least, nothing else safe.

Cautiously, edging towards the trolley as if it were a cliff edge, he extended an arm and quickly whipped the lid off the platter. He stared at what lay underneath. It was a letter. The envelope was unmarked and sat still on the silver dish. The rest of it was empty. The Doctor frowned as he considered it with apprehension. He dropped the lid to the floor then took the letter into his hands. It was as delicate as a flower's petal.

He carefully folded the corner of the envelope upwards and pulled out a sheet of paper, folded neatly and perfectly in four. He unfolded it and let his eyes graze over the looped writing.

_My dear,_

_I see you did not accept my invitation. Instead, you mock and torture my heart with your teasings. I waited for you patiently, as I said I would. But when you came to the restaurant, you had another on your arm; another to enjoy the delights of you laughter and smiles; another to lull into a loving trance, as you once held me. I see now that it was all a lie. You meant none of your kind words. But believe me when I say I mean every one of mine; you will not get away with embarrassing me as you have done. I watched you all evening and now I know when I shall make my move. Keep watch for me, my love. Enjoy the champagne, for it will be your last. I picked it out especially. You shall learn to love me in the way I love you, or perish in my teachings. You'll see – we are meant to be together._

_Until my next,_

_Farewell._

The Doctor blinked with shock. He read the letter three times over, just to make sure that he wasn't mistaken in what he saw. But there were the words, plain and simple. His sharp mind began to jolt into action. This mysterious, nameless author of the letter – who was he? Was it even a he? Who was he trying to contact? No, wait, he knew that. It had to be Rose. A mistake, probably. The wrong room, the wrong time. Had he sent other letters? Yes, he must have... the restaurant... Rose had thought he'd wanted to meet her in the restaurant... could she have read another letter thinking it was from him?

The Doctor had been pacing, the letter still firmly in his grip. He stopped again and read the words for a fourth time. Then he turned the paper over, examining the blank side. No other sign of anyone writing on it, nothing. Just a blank canvas. But nine words stuck dangerously out in his mind: 'Enjoy the champagne, for it will be your last'. He could almost hear the malicious voice of the writer echoing in his head, even though he had never heard it. Those words alone were threatening enough. But there was one thing he was sure of; he would not be touching that champagne.

He had to know. Part of him wanted to wait until the morning, to give Rose the good night's sleep she deserved. She had only been asleep for about three quarters of an hour. But the rest of him brought up the point that, by the looks of things, they may not have that long. There was no doubt about it – he would have to wake her.

The Doctor approached the closed door but hesitated, his fist hovering over the wood. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. A sign, perhaps, an excuse not to wake her up. He'd had the unfortunate pleasure of waking her once before, in the TARDIS, and she had refused to talk to him for a good two hours. He'd only wanted to know if she'd wanted a cup of tea, but had apparently interrupted a rather good dream involving some human celebrity he'd never heard of. Brad something.

But this was much more important, he knew. So he shook the memory away and reluctantly tapped three times, lightly, on the door. He heard a groggy voice call out in protest. Slowly, he eased the door open and slipped inside the room.

"Rose," he whispered. The figure on the bed stirred, but made no answer. He would normally have left her at that point, but he couldn't. He had to be sure. "Rose."

"Whaizzit?" she asked sleepily. He edged forward further into the dark room, the light from the living room falling softly over the bed. He crept to the side she was facing and squatted down, levelling his face with hers.

"I'm sorry to wake you," he apologised sincerely. "But I need you to tell me if you had a letter off a stranger earlier."

Rose's eyes, which had been contentedly shut until now, flickered open. She saw the Doctor's face loom into focus as she blinked sleep away.

"Letter?" she repeated blearily. "What letter?"

The Doctor held up the letter in his hand and waved it in front of her.

"One like this, I s'pose. Have you seen one?"

"Yeah," Rose replied with a sleepy yawn. She lifted a hand and waved in the direction of the bottom of the bed. "S'down there somewhere."

"Great," the Doctor said with a grin. "Thanks."

He got to his feet again and made his way to the end of the bed, his eyes alert for a second sheet of paper. He spotted it almost instantly, resting crumpled under Rose's ankle. Pulling it gently out from beneath her, he picked it up and read. Sure enough, it confirmed his earlier suspicions. Comparing it to the letter in his other hand he could see the writing, and thus the author, was the same.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked, peering over the edge of the paper towards Rose. Her chest was rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, but he knew she wasn't asleep.

"Found it," she yawned, beginning to sit up. The Doctor hid a smile at the sight of her frizzy, unkempt hair.

"Where?"

"On the bed when I came out from the loo. Thought you'd left it. What's all this about Doctor?" she paused for a moment, blinking into the darkness. Then she lifted a hand to her head, winced in pain and added, "My head is killing me."

"That'll be the wine," the Doctor commented factually. He stared at her. "And why would _I_ leave a letter?"

"Dunno," Rose shrugged, yawning yet again and reaching up for a welcome stretch.

The Doctor scanned the letter Rose had found again.

"You really thought I wrote this?" he asked, and his voice was tinged with a little twinge, as if he were hurt.

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, it's written in French."

Rose took the letter from the Doctor; sure enough, the words on her page were written in French, even though when she read them they seemed English. How could she not have noticed that?

"Oh," she said, handing it back. He frowned.

"And for another, since when do I call you 'my dear' or speak in that terribly corny way?"

Thinking about it now, Rose could see how foolish she had been to assume it was the Doctor who had left her that note. Of course it wasn't. It didn't sounds in the least bit like him. It actually sounded vaguely threatening, come to think of it. But who, then, had written it? And how did it find its way to her? Rose gasped with a sudden newfound fear.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked, instantly attentive. He made to sit on the bed next to her. She looked at him, her eyes wide.

"He was here, Doctor," she said, her voice shaking. "In the room. When I came out of the bathroom, the door over there was closing like someone had just left. I thought it was you."

"Not me," the Doctor replied quietly, sitting closer to Rose.

"Not you," she echoed, more to herself than to him. Then, as if jolting awake from a dream, she looked to him again. "Then who? And what does he want with me?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I don't know. It may not even be you he's talking about it." He held out the second letter so she could read it. "Look."

She frowned after she had read it and bit her lip with worry.

"I'd say I know you quite well, Rose, and I don't think you've been torturing anyone's hearts with your teasings. At least," he added with a slight wink, "not lately."

She gave a small smile at his joke, but other than that, stared ahead of her blankly.

"But, it's gotta be me, hasn't it?" she said after a while. "That restaurant with 'another on my arm'. That was you."

The Doctor's first thought was why was another man preying on his woman? But then, he corrected himself; she wasn't his woman, was she? She was his, yes, but his friend, his companion, his freedom. Not his woman.

His second thought instantly questioned why this man was so interested in Rose and what she even had to do with it, considering they had not been in Saint-Émilion for more than a few hours. How could anyone fall in love with someone they hadn't met in that amount of time?

His third thought was how he could keep her safe and away from the danger that seemed to follow them instinctively around. He could take her back to the TARDIS and they could be off again, safe and happy. But they were parts of events now, and the mysterious character behind these letters would have to be unmasked and dealt with. Something told him that they were not going anywhere quickly.

And his fourth thought, or reaction rather, had been to jump when Rose had reached her hand out to his and given it a squeeze.

"Sorry," he mumbled, blinking at her. "I do that sometimes."

"Yeah," she laughed. "Lost in that head of yours. What's it thinking?"

"About how to keep you safe."

"It's only a letter, Doctor," she reminded gently, though she was touched at his reply. "It's just words. Nothing's happened."

"Yeah, well, what about when it does? I can't go taking that risk, especially not when it's you we're talking about."

Rose couldn't understand why he was getting so defensive. He usually leapt right into action, regardless of the fact of whether her safety was involved. Okay, so he always warned her that it might be dangerous and promised that he would keep her safe... But this was different. This time, there _was_ no danger, yet he was still acting as though someone had just leapt into the room and given her two hours to live.

"So, what?" she asked instead, shrugging and getting up off the bed. "We wait for the next letter?"

"No," the Doctor replied, shaking his head. "I told you. I can't take that risk. I'll take you back to the TARDIS, make sure he can't get to you, and then find the creep behind these messages. He's obviously got you confused with someone else."

Rose actually snorted with laughter. "You're joking," she said, grinning. "Doctor, you know me well enough by now to know that you're not leaving me anywhere. I'm goin' with you and that's that, all right?"

"But – " he began to complain. Rose stepped over to him and put a hand out as if trying to calm him.

"No Doctor," she interrupted, still grinning. She caught his eye. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm going."

"Oh you are, are you?" he replied in his cocky, challenging voice. He folded his arms sulkily and sat on the bed. "And what if I don't go anywhere? Just sit here?"

She raised an eyebrow and hid a smile.

"That's not your style."

He looked as though her were about to reply, but instead closed his mouth pointedly, held his arms tighter and stared directly ahead of him, his face unmoving.

"You're such a child," Rose teased with a laugh. He looked up at her reproachfully.

"This coming from the stroppy teenager who won't do as I say."

"I'm not stroppy!" she protested. Then she rolled her eyes and walked over to take his hand, which he didn't give. "Come on then; don't tell me I'm going to have you drag you into this adventure."

The Doctor looked to her with a slight frown. "I thought you didn't want adventure?"

"I never said that!"

"All but implied it, though. I thought you were bored."

Rose laughed, and shook her head. "With you around? Never."

The Doctor's head jerked to the window in the bedroom, cloaked in shadow. "Just as well," he said, getting up and going over to it. He put his hands on the frame to lift it, but it didn't budge. Then he turned to Rose with a gleam in his eye. "Because that adventure you're talking about – it's just found us."

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_Reviews are always welcomed. I love hearing what you have to say, be it three words or three hundred words. Anything to make my writing better, or to how you're reacting to this story. It would do me such a huge favour and make me feel all warm and fuzzy! _


	3. All But One

_**A/N**: This chapter was originally nearly 8,000 words, but I figured that was way too long. So I've split it into two and posted two chapters at once. Give you a bit of a break in the mean time :P Huge thanks to_**Jen**_, who seems to be following my stories around xD I love it, it makes me feel like I'm actually __achieving__ something with my late-night scribblings. I also thank _you_, for reading. Because, well, there's not really any point in writing if no one's going to read it, is there? Aside from getting the thing on paper. Or monitor, whatever. Okay, I'm done with my rambling now; you can have your chapter._

_**Warning**: This chapter (or the following, I forget which - probably both) has been rated T for language. It's not really that bad, probably between K+ and T, really, but better safer than sorry. Don't say I didn't warn you:D _

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Chapter III – All But One

Pierre Duval was just packing up to go home. He gave his wristwatch – a wedding present from his mother-in-law – a quick glance, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had long been relieved from his shift at the reception desk, but not before he'd noticed that strange man and his girlfriend come down for dinner. They made quite a bizarre couple. He had taken the time to sort through some paperwork in the back office. Better now than at the weekend, after all. He would take any free time he could get, and once he was awake at this time of night, he barely slept a wink until the early hours of the morning anyway. So he may as well put it to good use.

He had been sat at the desk, humming a tune that was a favourite with his wife, when he thought he heard a clatter from the kitchens. The restaurant had long closed, so it was odd that there should be anyone in there, especially as the doors were supposedly locked. He paused with his pen above the page he was scribbling on, his sharp ears listening for further sound. But there was none. Shrugging and putting it down to the hour, Pierre sighed and capped the lid of his fountain pen. It was probably time he should be heading home anyway. But just as he was standing up, shrugging on his jacket, he heard the noise again. A clattering of metal, like someone had dropped one of the serving dishes. And it was definitely coming from the kitchens, no doubt about it. He frowned.

Rummaging in his pocket for his keys, he made his way to the wooden swing door which led to the kitchen. Peering through the circular sheet of glass, he could see nothing. Still, he put the key in the lock anyway and pushed the door open, poking his head into the darkness of the seemingly still kitchens.

"Hello?" he called, turning his head left and right. There was no answer. His frown deepened. He stepped through into the kitchen and let the door swing closed behind him, moving his head carefully around so his eyes could dart into every corner of the room. It seemed to be empty. Perhaps he was just imagining things. But he knew, his ears were as sharp as fox and his eyes as swift as an owl's. He hadn't misheard anything.

He edged around the large counter that sat in the middle of the room, pots and pans hanging from its rafters. His footsteps echoed around the quiet room as he walked. It certainly seemed empty enough. But then, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Whirling around he was in time to see a small, black figure race under one of the cupboards at the edge of the room. An animal of some sort. He walked to the door to reach for the light switch – why hadn't that been his first instinct? – then knelt down on all fours to look under the cupboard. Staring back at him from the depths at the back was a large, black cat. It was completely covered, no colour in its features except for its eyes which shone back a yellowy-green. They blinked at him quietly. Pierre sighed. He was a cat person – he had one of his own back at home – but he couldn't allow one in the hotel, and especially not the kitchens. It just wasn't hygienic.

"Come on," he said calmly, reaching a hand out towards the frightened animal. "Let me take you outside."

The cat's eyes suddenly turned into devastating slits. Its back arched and its fur stood on end as the creature hissed and spat at the man. It swiped out a clawed paw at Pierre's hand, who quickly withdrew his arm in pain. He turned his hand over to stare at the cut, which was now oozing blood. It stung with such intense pain it made his eyes water. He'd had a cat scratch before, but nothing so bad as this. Knowing his luck, the damned thing probably had rabies. Cursing, he got to his feet again and reached for a broom with his free hand. He shoved the fluffed end underneath the cupboard and the cat shot out with a devastating yowl. Pierre reached for the door and held it open, shoving the broom menacingly at the cat as he did so. The black creature shot through the office, into the foyer and, as Pierre followed it, out into the street outside.

"What was what?" asked his friend Luc who had taken over his shift from the reception desk.

"Cat," muttered Pierre as he stood frowning at the door. "Nasty cat at that. Bet it's a stray."

"Lots of them about recently," Luc agreed, shaking his head. "How did it get in?"

"No idea. It was in the kitchens, though."

Luc grimaced. "That'll be fun, explaining that to Michael."

"Just don't," Pierre said back, a little sadly. He gave his friend a gracious wave and made for the door. After a brief swap of information about tomorrow's work times, he stepped out into the street and began to walk to his welcoming home.

The thin line of blood across his hand was still throbbing with pain, but it was not too unbearable. Little did he know that the following morning he would wake with a throbbing headache, and high fever and would be too ill to go to work. His wife would fuss over him during the day, as he would lie in bed, suffering continuous bouts of sweating and shivering. During the week he would get progressively worse as the cut got more and more inflamed until eventually, in about a week's time, he would die of septicaemia. And, little did he know as he walked – humming the tune he had been singing earlier – that out of the darkness from a back alley two yellow orbs were watching him carefully.

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The Doctor had extracted the sonic screwdriver from the depths of his battered, old leather jacket and was now twiddling with it, fighting against the window.

"Fancy painting the damned thing shut," he cried almost incredulously through clenched teeth.

"Maybe they don't want anyone to escape," Rose suggested.

The Doctor turned to look at her with a frown that made her feel quite stupid. "Escape? From what? Apart from that receptionist, there's nothing around here worth running from."

"Well, I dunno," Rose sighed. "You sure you saw someone?"

"Rose, I saw a face in the window. Two little gleaming eyes staring in on us. I don't need any other clues than that."

The screwdriver did its job, and the Doctor was finally open to edge the window open with a shuddering creak.

"There," he said happily as if he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "All done."

The problem was, the window was just too small. It was large enough to get your head out of, maybe, but by the time you got to your shoulders, there was no way you could go any further. It didn't stop the Doctor from trying, though. He looked quite comical, leant forward, his head out in the outside air.

Rose put a hand over her mouth to hide the smile. "You know there's a door, right?" she asked with amusement.

He brought his head back into the room and gave her a withering look. "I'm looking for traces of someone being here."

"Well?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Not so much as a fingernail. There's also no way anyone could just accidentally 'walk' there, either."

"What d'you mean?"

"See for yourself," the Doctor offered, stepping back and letting Rose to the window. She stuck her head out and saw... nothing. The window opened out above the street, but it was in the middle of a wall. A flat wall. The only thing one could have climbed was the balcony, and that was a good few metres away to the right.

"Right," she sighed, brining her head back in to look at the Doctor. "You've gotta be wrong, then, yeah?"

"_I_," he said carefully, "am never wrong. Something was here, watching us. Doesn't matter, though. It had a chance to get away while I was fiddling with that bloody window. Scarpered pretty quick when I spotted it, too."

"So, what, this thing's stalking us now?"

The Doctor swung to her defensively. His eyes were fierce but with worry, not anger. "You," he corrected. "It's stalking you. There's too much that doesn't make sense. And until I know exactly what's going on, I want you stay by me, okay? None of that wandering off you do so well."

"It's not like I can't take care of myself," Rose sulked. The Doctor made his way over to her and put his arms on her shoulders. She looked at him.

"I know. And I'm sorry," he said, his eyes concentrated on hers. "And I know you think this is just a silly prank, or something. But until I know what we're dealing with, I can't go putting you in any danger."

Rose sighed with a shrug. "Yeah, all right," she agreed. "It's not like there's anywhere else I'd rather be."

He smiled at her gently; he knew she'd understand. She always did.

"Good," the Doctor said with a grin, dropping his hands. He let his left hand slide down her arm and take her hand, which she gave easily. He grinned harder, his teeth flashing mischievously at her. He walked her back to the living room, where they both collapsed into the sofa, the Doctor in the corner and Rose practically on top of him, her head resting on his comfortable chest. She stared up to the ceiling as the fire crackled in its grate. How come it hadn't gone out yet? Rose was no expert with fires, but even she knew that they died out some time.

It was then that she spotted the champagne bottle on the trolley. She questioned the Doctor about it.

"That's the bottle that came with the letter," he replied, and there was a frown in his voice. "It was very odd. A knock at the door and then the abandoned cart. Haven't touched it, though. Wouldn't drink it with a barge pole."

Rose giggled at his mixed metaphors.

"You are funny," she said at length after the conversation had died away. He grinned down into her hair.

"You think so?"

Craning her neck, she looked up into his calm eyes.

"Definitely," she grinned. Then she yawned. "Can't believe you woke me up, though."

He rolled his eyes and moved his arm, which had been resting over the back of the sofa, protectively around her shoulder. The dress was so thin he could feel her warm skin through the fabric. It was surprisingly comforting.

"Your life could have been in serious danger, you know," he countered. "Imagine if that thing by the window had got in? What if I hadn't scared it away?"

"Yeah right," Rose snorted, readjusting her head to his chest again. "If there even _was_ anything at that window, you couldn't even get it open without your sonic screwdriver."

"Well, honestly, who's stupid enough to paint a window shut? I mean, what if there was a fire? I sometimes don't understand you lot and your strange customs."

"You love us really."

The Doctor contemplated this for a moment, breathing deeply as he did so.

"Yeah," he confirmed with a smile. "I do. Don't ask me why. You're all of you stupid apes, the lot of you."

Rose raised herself slightly to frown at the Doctor, but there was an element of a grin in her eyes.

"All of us?"

The firelight danced, reflected in his eyes. His face softened.

"Well. All but one."

Dangerous ground, he thought as she lowered her head. I mean, quite honestly, just what did he think he was doing? He could take her to the ends of the universe and back, but he'd chosen a lovely little French town in one of his favourite Earth time periods. And why was that? Because he wanted to show her what was important to him, that's why. Because he wanted her to see that he wasn't just a stupid old git from the far stretches of the galaxy. Because he wanted to spend every single minute he had with her doing things that mattered, not things that were possible. And this mattered. But it was dangerous. He would have to make sure he didn't leap too far into this, didn't give too much of himself away. The day would come, he knew, when Rose would wake up and decide that she had had enough. Something would happen and she would want to leave, both him and the TARDIS, for good. He had been dreading that time since the first day he had picked her up and taken her with him. He had never so badly wanted to keep one to his companions with him.

Everyone else had been dispensable. Important, yes, and each had left a permanent and original mark in his memory. But he could have easily done everything without them. Rose was different. He was scared by how much he relied on her. But he was also comforted in the fact that, for the moment, he was so happy that he had found someone who could offer that to him yet so scared that it could be torn away from him at any second and he would be left a shattered mess of a man. Scared that she had that power over him. She could never know. Any of it. It was just too dangerous.

"Did you hear that?"

Rose sat up from the Doctor's arms in a jump. Here eyes were wild. He pulled himself up from the corner of the sofa.

"What?" he asked. He hadn't heard anything. Too caught up in his own thoughts. About her. Strike one.

"That noise. Sounded like a crash from downstairs."

He stood up and listened carefully.

"I can't hear anything," he said after a moment or two, turning to look back at Rose.

"It was probably nothing," Rose shrugged, leaning into the sofa again.

"Still. I should probably check it out."

She looked up to the Doctor with a cynical smile. "I think the hotel staff can handle it, Doctor."

"Don't be so sure," he replied, walking to the door of the room. He checked his pocket for the key. Putting a hand on the handle, he looked back to Rose.

"You," he warned. "You'd better still be here, alive, when I get back. No wandering off. I have the key, remember?"

"Yes, Dad," she laughed, rolling her eyes. He looked at her with an offended frown. He was actually hurt by her teasing. Strike two. "I'll be fine," she continued softly.

He broke into a grin.

"Back in a mo," he said, before disappearing out into the corridor.

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That had been an hour and a half ago. Rose was pacing the living room impatiently, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. It ticked steadily forward and was now coming up to a quarter past one. In the morning. She had sat on the sofa for about half an hour, not moving much, just sitting there and waiting for him. But it dawned on her only a short while later that he wasn't coming back. He hadn't left her, per se, but he had done what he'd always done and got caught up in something else. She had decided she would give him until half past one to put in an appearance; after that, she didn't care _what_ he said: she'd be going off on her own. Rose knew he had the knack for disappearing and losing track of time – he was the Doctor. Time really didn't mean _anything_ to him. But she also knew he wouldn't just leave her behind especially, as he seemed to so vehemently think, that her life was in danger. Which had to mean something was wrong.

Twenty past. Come _on_, she found herself thinking, though she wasn't quite sure if it was the Doctor or the clock she was willing. But either way, the waiting was unbearable. She paced over to the French windows and opened one, stepping out into the refreshing air. Her head filled with the memory of her and the Doctor and his arm around her waist. Particularly his arm around her waist, actually. He had become more and more affectionate recently and Rose quite liked it.

She leant over the railing, a warm wind sweeping her hair gently around her face. She loved France, she decided. She could quite easily live here. If she didn't have a time machine and a best friend, that was. But the two combined trumped France and its quirks any day. Every day, in fact. She had a feeling they always would.

Voices floated up from the street below her, just outside the door of the hotel. At first she didn't really bother to listen to them but after a while, she became quite interested. Her mother had always told her not to eavesdrop on conversations, but they weren't exactly hushed. Two men, it seemed. Yes, definitely. One had a very light, easy voice, which was hurried and naturally a fast talker. The other was slower and deeper and, as Rose listened, sounded British. English. The type of English accent she always heard on American films, but had yet to actually meet.

"It was a cat, he said," said the light, hurried one, sucking in the air.

"A cat? A cat, in my kitchens?" replied the deeper, slower one. Strange how Rose could _hear_ English in her head, but the accents told her that they were both speaking French. Evidently, the English guy had quite a knack for it.

"That's what he said, sir."

"We've known each other long enough, Luc. Call me Michael."

"Yes sir. Michael." The lightened voice was grinning, Rose could tell.

"Still, it's odd," Michael contemplated. "This area of town has always been fairly clean, and yet all of a sudden, there's an arrival of stray cats. And one of them finds its way into my kitchen! Fascinating."

"There is one more thing, before I leave," Luc added hurriedly.

"What is it?"

"Pierre, he appeared to be hurt. I didn't comment at the time, but his hand had fresh blood on it. A cat scratch, by the look of it."

Michael chuckled. "No doubt the poor man tried to get the little thing out without hurting it. He always was fond of animals." The man sighed, a weary sigh, as if somehow he thought he wouldn't wake up tomorrow. "I shall inquire of it tomorrow when I see him. Until then, Luc, I suggest you have a further chat with our friend. He certainly seems to know what's going on."

"Can't," the voice of Luc replied simply.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"He's disappeared. Last I saw him he was fiddling with the back gate heading down to..." Luc faded off and then continued, but his voice was too hushed for Rose to hear. Her hands were clenched around the railing so much so that her knuckles were white and though she strained to listen, she just couldn't hear. And then, there was the sound of footsteps and the light-hearted voice got further away.

"Good night. I'll be seeing you tomorrow?"

"Of course. Good night, Luc. Give my best to your wife."

And that was it. No more conversation. There was the sound of a door opening and closing and then silence. The street was empty.

Rose frowned and stepped back inside the living room. It couldn't be the Doctor they were talking about. It just couldn't be. But she had the horrible feeling that it was. That he was being like a little boy in a Toys 'R' Us store on his sixth birthday surrounded by mountains of cakes and sweets. This sort of thing was the equivalent, she supposed. He lived for adventure. So did she, mind you. She just wished he'd let her show him that.

The clock on the mantelpiece read one thirty. It was now or never.

Stalking over to the door, she put a hand on the handle and pulled. It didn't budge. She pulled again, harder. Nothing. The bloody cad had locked it. As if he'd anticipated her trying to get out whilst his back was turned, so to speak. The fact that she was wasn't the point. He didn't trust her. Mind you, what could she expect?

Giving an annoyed sigh, she made her way back to the balcony. Looking down, she could see that there was quite clearly no way she could get to the floor that wouldn't result in a rather painful death, which would probably be hers. Great. The Doctor had locked her in a room with no way to escape. That meant she either had to fight the door open or wait for him. Neither choice seemed agreeable. She went back to the door and gave it another tug, even though she knew full well that it wouldn't open. It was pure optimism which made her try. And, of course, it didn't move. Damn thing. How could the Doctor have locked her in like that? First he'd wanted to take her back to the TARDIS, then he'd wanted to keep her by his side and now he'd locked her in the room. What kind of a hypocrite was he? Did he really think she was just a stroppy teenager who wouldn't listen to him? And would she prove him right by trying to break out of the room? Probably. Damn it, she just couldn't win with him.

Giving up for the moment, Rose collapsed into the sofa and folded her arms, frowning. He was such an idiot. A cretin. She hoped he knew how irritated she felt right now. And no amount of dinner _or_ dancing would make up for him leaving her.

All right. Another half an hour. Then she'd do something like jump out of the window. But first, he would have another half an hour.


	4. Stay With Him

_**A/N**: Okay, there you go, my second of two installments. Nothing special. Enjoy!_

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Chapter IV – Stay With Him

His objective was not to get caught. So far, so good. The Doctor held his breath as he pressed his back to the wall, disappearing into the shadows. The alley was small and probably far too narrow to slip by unnoticed. But it was worth a shot. He glanced at his watch and winced. He'd left Rose over two hours ago. He should really be getting back to her. But first, he had to listen, had to find out. He had gone in too far to leave now. It would be like playing a piece of music, but leaving off the last bar or eating a plate of food, but leaving the last mouthful. Unthinkable, really. He waited with baited breath, crouched down behind a dustbin. He had followed this source all the way across the town, ever since he had heard that Pierre had been attacked in the kitchen.

"It was just a cat," the man at the desk, Luc, had laughed. But the Doctor knew better. He always did. It was both a blessing and a curse. Of course then, he had inquired further, and also met the manager of the hotel. A charming man called Michael, who was of a fair height and brought build. Large shoulders and a heavy weight, but he carried himself very well. He was the sort of person you wouldn't like to see up against you in a boxing ring. But he had a nature of gold, which was just as well. After a quick chat the Doctor had not been surprised to hear of some unusual behaviour going on lately. Apparently there had been a few sightings of quite a few stray cats around and, during the dead hours of the night and early hours of the morning, Michael had told him that it was not uncommon to hear the terrible sounds of cats fighting filling the usually quiet streets.

He had asked, quite naturally, if the town was used to stray cats and fighting noises. It came as no shock when he found out it wasn't. It could be nothing, he had thought as he'd bade the men farewell after inquiring a back room of the hotel. It could be just a coincidence. Cats turned up all the time, right? It happened. But that hadn't stopped him from slipping out through the back and keeping his eyes on a movement through the back alley. This he had followed stealthily, down the street, round a couple of corners, and down a few more streets. He had to step lightly so as not to alert the cat to his presence but quickly so as not to lose it in the maze of streets. At some point, he had questioned what it was he was doing - why was he chasing a cat down a street? That didn't seem very Doctor like. He was used to crashing in and causing a scene, not pussy footing around - okay, bad pun - _sneaking_ around, then, to find out an answer. That wasn't his style. And he missed Rose. He'd wanted to go back and get her, to have her by his side. But there hadn't been time; he probably would have lost his lead. And she'd probably trip over a dustbin or something and scare the poor thing away anyway, so it was just as well. Perhaps she'd make her own way to him... Oh, wait, she couldn't do that either. He'd locked the door. Oops.

He edged closer to the bin he was hidden behind. It didn't offer much shelter, but it was better than nothing. Carefully, he peered over the top, where the cat seemed to have stopped. It was pacing, rather unnaturally, looking rather impatient. After a time, the Doctor noticed a black raven flutter down from the sky and land on a thrown out pile of cardboard boxes. It flapped its wings out like a cormorant, holding its beak high. The cat spat for a moment or two, but then sat quite contentedly and began to lick its paw. It was then that the Doctor heard voices. From the cat. And the raven.

"How did it go?" The raven asked. Its voice was silky and even from where the Doctor was standing, he could see it had little beady eyes. Beady eyes that looked familiar.

The cat shook its head, as if something had just flown in its ear and it wanted to get it out.

"Not as planned," it replied in a husky, female voice. "I got caught."

"Fool!" the raven clattered, flapping its wings in distress. "Did I not tell you to take care?"

"The human found me before I had a chance to reach anything. I had only just got myself in there."

"Perhaps, but how did he find you?" The raven's eyes, if possible, narrowed. It leaned forward, its beak clicking menacingly.

"I made a careless jump. My tail caught one of their serving dishes and knocked it clean to the floor. The human heard and came in. I dashed for escape, but was too slow. When he tried to evict me, I lashed out at him and caught his hand with my claw. Gave him a nasty scratch. He'll be dead by the end of next week."

The raven ruffled his feathers in anger.

"You should learn how to control yourself!"

"And you should learn to do your own dirty work," the cat snapped back, her voice harsh. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead. You rely on me and you know it."

"I didn't used to," muttered the raven in return, relaxing his wings. "There was another..."

"Yes, we have _all_ heard your story," the cat replied, though her voice was not without sympathy. "And we are doing our best to help. But the others are becoming restless. There's talk of mutiny."

"Let them try," snorted the raven. "I am the only one who has the power to disguise myself as a human in this world. And nothing can beat that."

"Humans are weak. They will fall before long."

"Perhaps. But she is necessary in our - in my - plan. Nothing goes ahead until I give the signal. You can tell the others so if you wish. But, my fair lady, you must have to try again. I realise your discomfort with staying hidden longer than you have to, but it's all for the best. You have to trust me on that at least."

"I do trust you," the cat replied quietly. "But others do not. They assume you to be caught up in the past and not concentrating enough on the future. They fear your judgement is clouded by the woman."

"Let them think what they like. If it weren't for me we wouldn't even be here and they would still be complaining of a better life. If they have to demonstrate some patience in the meantime, well, I can't help that."

The cat bowed her head to the floor, then stood to all fours.

"Tomorrow night, then?" she asked. The raven nodded his head.

"I shall keep an eye on the girl. Until tomorrow, then," he replied. The cat disappeared up the alleyway and the raven, checking his surroundings for anything suspicious (the Doctor had had the sense to duck down by this point) spread his wings and swooped into the sky.

Well, that was certainly odd. The Doctor got to his feet again, a frown creasing his already troubled forehead. The TARDIS was good at translating. The best, in fact. But even animals were a stretch, which meant one of two things: either the TARDIS had undergone a miraculous change and could now figure out the telepathic waves of animals – unlikely, considering it was near impossible – or it meant that the two creatures in front of him were of alien life and blood and therefore more recognisable. That was probably it.

The Doctor exhaled loudly and leant against the wall, the unwelcome rocks digging into his back. Nothing could ever be simple, could it? Did trouble just follow him around? Did all the aliens of each and every galaxy suddenly wake up and think, "I know, let's annoy the Doctor today"? All he'd wanted to do was show Rose that he wasn't all about the monsters, and the aliens, and the dying, and the fighting. It turned out that that wasn't what she'd wanted anyway, but that wasn't the point. Without Gallifrey or a place to return to after he felt tired or lonely, was all that was left really the monsters? He wasn't trying to pretend he was anything special; just clever enough to know what was right and what was wrong and brave enough to stand up for it. What else could he do? He couldn't be the only one who felt this way, surely. But he wasn't, was he? There was Rose. Rose, who never questioned his motive and always trusted that he was right. Rose, who, despite having almost killed her on several occasions, still stood by him without a doubt. Refused to leave his side, even. Rose, who had called the TARDIS her home when he wasn't even sure if it was his. Rose, who still didn't have a key to the TARDIS because he'd demanded it back from her on their last but one trip to Earth and, up until now, had forgotten all about it. Rose, who was still locked in the bedroom, probably waiting for him and probably in a very bad mood. Rose, who was his best friend because of or despite all of the above. There were too many reasons to think of why he loved her. But he did. The realisation hit him like a bullet between the eyes, just as sudden and equally as painful.

Damn it, he thought as he began to stroll quickly back to the hotel. He hated being on his own. It made him think about everything. When he was with Rose he could react to her and be himself, no thinking involved. But without her, he was a big thinking time bomb. He had thought a lot since Gallifrey. Those lonely hours on the TARDIS drifting away as he sat and thought and wondered about everything he had done, and not just to do with the Time War. That had hurt, all that thinking. Not that it had done him any good. He was still miserable and hollow, like an empty shell or a soulless being. He had been merely surviving. Nothing more. Standing up for what was right, maybe, but only because there was no one and nothing else. He had been alone, and right, and the only one clever enough to do anything about it.

But then he'd met Rose, and all of a sudden, it had all fallen away. It all became a distant dream, a numbness in the pit of one of his hearts. She had outwitted him – or as good as – and given him a small jolt towards the direction of life in the process. Was that was he was doing now? Living? Because that was what it felt like. There certainly seemed to be a point to it all now. The 'lone wanderer' had been given a home and... Oh bother, he was thinking again, wasn't he? Thoughts about Rose, no less. Dangerous grounds. If he wasn't careful, he would end up going so deep with her that it just wouldn't be clever. But he didn't care. If life was meaningless without her, then he'd be damned if he were just going to let her go. She'd promised she would stay with him always. What if she meant it? What if this really was what had been missing from her life, not to mention his? What if she ended up spending the rest of her life with him? No, it was too much and too stupid to think about. She would never love him enough for that; he just wouldn't let her.

The Doctor found himself outside of the hotel. After a quick glance around to check that he was alone – call it his paranoid mind, but he didn't want anyone seeing him – he pushed open the door and stepped in. The foyer light was off, but there was a soft glow coming from the office behind the reception desk. Shrugging, he walked over to it, knocked, and then – with granted permission – stuck his head around the door. Michael was sat wearily at one of the desks, but he lifted his head at the Doctor' presence.

"Hello," the Doctor said brightly with his trademark grin.

"Sir," Michael replied with a kind smile.

"No more trouble, I take it? No cats or anything?"

Michael frowned slightly and rose to his feet. "I assure you, the hygiene of this hotel is quite immaculate. You need not worry."

"That wasn't what I asked."

The manager sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with his hand.

"No," he said quietly. "No trouble." Then he paused for a moment with and inquisitive look on his aging brow. "Why do you ask?"

"Just making sure. Let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens. I have a feeling I'll be here for a while."

Michael eyed this strange man with interest. He was dressed in the most bizarre combination of clothes he had ever seen. Something from America, maybe? But he didn't sound American. North of the British Isles, possibly. Still, there was something in his look and manner that Michael trusted, so he gave a gracious nod of the head and confirmed that he would do just that.

"Good," the man grinned with a winning smile. "Glad to see you trust me."

Michael started; he was not usually so easy to read.

The man turned to go, but before he did, he turned back for a second.

"That receptionist of yours," he began with a frown. "Pierre. He was the one that the cat attacked?"

"Yes," Michael nodded. "Why?"

"You might want to tell him to get it checked out.. In fact, if he doesn't come in tomorrow, insist that he does. If it was a nasty cat scratch, chances are he could be dead by the end of the week. And no one wants that."

The manager, not unreasonably, looked quite taken aback.

"Are you a doctor, then?" he asked amiably.

"Of sorts," the Doctor smiled, though it was somewhat patronising. "I take care of people when I have to."

"In that case, you are a very good man indeed. I shall do as you suggest. Good night."

"Good night."

The Doctor left the man in peace. Well, good deed done. Pierre would probably not die. Or at the very least, not without his help in trying to stop it. He began climbing the stairs two at a time, quietly though, so as not to disturb the sleeping guests. He reached his room and, reluctantly, with the full knowledge of the bollocking he would get from Rose if she was in there, slipped the key into the lock. He almost wished she'd found a way to break out and sneak off.

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Arguments with Rose were generally fairly one-sided, a skill she had picked up from Jackie, no doubt.

"Two-and-a-half hours I waited!"

"I know."

"Two-and-a-half hours I waited for _you_!"

"I know."

"You said 'back in a mo'!"

"I _know_."

"What kind of 'mo' was that, Doctor?"

"It wasn't"

"I didn't even try the door until about an-hour-and-a-half after you left!"

"I kn – really?"

"You locked it!"

"I'm sorry."

"For all I knew, you'd jumped into the TARDIS for a quick trip without me!"

"I'd never do that."

"You left me! For two-and-a-half bloody hours!"

And so it went on; Rose getting more and more aggravated, the Doctor getting more and more patient. Until, at last, he couldn't stand it.

"I _know_," the Doctor said eventually, getting to his feet from the couch and putting his arms out to the shoulders of the angrily pacing Rose. He lowered his head to hers so their eye line was perfect and looked at her, unblinking. "I know, Rose, and I'm sorry. I should have come back. But I couldn't. There wasn't time. I wanted you with me, but I needed to find out what was going on."

"And did you?"

He hesitated, which was enough of an answer in itself. "Well, no, not exactly."

She wriggled out of his grip and flung her arms to her side with an irritated sigh.

"I need a leash for you, I do."

At least she was just angry. She wasn't hurt, or upset, and she didn't really think he'd left her. Did she? These days, it was best just to check.

"You didn't really think I'd left, did you?" he asked with worry, perching on one of the arms of the sofa. Rose looked at him like he'd just got up and suggested they dance the hokey-cokey.

"Of course I didn't. I just wish you wouldn't forget me."

"I didn't forget you!" the Doctor protested hotly. "Thought about you every bloody minute, actually. I just couldn't do anything about it. I knew you'd be angry and bite my head off when I got back, but I'm still here, aren't I?"

That seemed to soften her. She stopped pacing and actually smiled at him. God this girl could change mood quickly.

"Yeah, I guess you are," she replied warmly, going over to sit by the corner of the sofa he was perched on. "So, who's the big bad?"

And that was it. Argument over, all in the past, never to be brought up again. That was another thing he loved about her; she never held a grudge. One more thing to add to a very long list.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, with a small sigh. "The usual thing. Aliens trying to invade Earth in the form of cats."

"Cats?"

"Long story," he continued, waving his hand as if to dismiss her question. "I don't think there's any danger for tonight."

"Good," Rose said through a stifled yawn. The Doctor looked at her fondly.

"Time for bed, I think, Miss Tyler. Let that head of yours rest."

"Yeah, well, look what happened last time I tried," she sighed, though her eyes were already dipping shut in sleep. God, she must be exhausted. Even the Doctor felt a slight twinge of tiredness, and he was less prone to it than most.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. Rose opened her eyes to look at him.

"I wasn't have a go or anything," she tried to explain, but he stopped her mid sentence but lowering a hand to her hair affectionately.

"I know," he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. She'd have trouble hearing it when she _wasn't_ half asleep. "I know you weren't. But I'm still sorry, about all of this. I can't even take you out to dinner without it turning into some kind of dangerous game."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't like it," she reminded. "Who wants dinner when you can have dinner, and dancing, and aliens shooting about all over the place, and letters from complete strangers?"

"Who indeed?" the Doctor wondered contemplatively. Rose yawned again, loud and wide. "Come on, you. Bed," he ordered. "But please don't make me carry you again. My back can only take so much."

"What about my 'life being in danger'?" Rose grinned, teasing him about earlier that evening.

"Your life can wait. But I'll be here, awake, keeping watch. I'll make sure you're safe."

"You sure?"

"Positive. Any signs of trouble, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks Doctor."

Rose got up with a groan but slowly and steadily made her way to the bedroom door. Tiredness had crept up on her at just about the speed of the hare chasing the tortoise towards the end of their race.

She turned at the door and was happy – if not surprised – to see the Doctor sitting there watching her.

"Thank you," she said at length, after gazing at him for a moment or two. "For everything."

"You're very welcome," he replied, bringing his hand up to give her a small wave. "Good night, Rose."

She smiled. "Good night Doctor."

She disappeared behind the doors and was soon fast asleep under the covers. She hadn't even got changed. But at some point before she fell asleep, perhaps in addition to the farewell, she mumbled quietly into her pillow, "My Doctor."

Quite by coincidence, at about the same time, the Doctor sat perched on the sofa looking towards the balcony and said softly into the early morning, "My Rose."

It was a peaceful way to end the evening. Rose slept quietly for many hours whilst the Doctor sat, waited and watched as the Sun began to rise over a sleepy Saint-Émilion in complete silence. It was much, much later when Rose finally awoke to the sound of chirping birds. Having no idea of the time, she stumbled out of bed with a bleary yawn, then made her way to the living room. She opened the bedroom door, but stared as she did so. The room was empty. The Doctor was gone. Again. And this time, Rose knew, that no matter how long she waited, he wouldn't be coming back.

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_Liked it? Hated it? Please let me know; your words are golden :) _


	5. Consequences

_**A/N**: I'm making my chapters a little bit shorter from now on, so that it's not too overwhelming when you read a new update. It may or may not mean that I write more than one a day. We'll see. In the meantime, enjoy!_

_**Thank yous**: _**Luna Lovegood5**, **Lady-Mearle**, **YamiKITG **and** salrianna**_ for your lovely reviews and for following the story all the way through and, I notice, my others. Thanks for your kind words. And thank you to my other reviewers, as well. Obviously I can't list everyone, but you guys really make this so much more fun ;3_

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Chapter V - Consequences

At least he'd had the decency to leave a note. It was propped on a desk by the French windows, though if Rose's hadn't have been looking, she would have missed it. His writing was large and messy, yet easily distinctive.

_Rose,_

_If you're reading this it means I'm not back yet. I know I shouldn't have left, especially not after last night, but I needed a change of scene to clear my head and think. I'm not chasing anyone, or anything. I just needed the air. STAY IN THE ROOM. I will be back as soon as I can; I've left the TARDIS key for you, just in case - _

- a twinge of guilt went through Rose as she remembered how he had taken it from her about a week ago -

- _but it doesn't matter. I will be back. I'm not running off and leaving you. In fact, I wish you were awake, so you could come with me. But then, I probably wouldn't get much chance to think._

_Just in case, if there's no sign of me by half past nine, head down to reception and ask if I've been in. I don't plan to go anywhere but a Time Lord's feet do tend to wander. I've ordered breakfast for you as an apology for not being there. Take care, and don't do anything I wouldn't do. Or anything I would, come to that._

_Love,_

_The Doctor._

Even his messages were cryptic. Rose looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Five to nine. Her brain started shouted questions at her even before the letter had really sunk in. Where was the Doctor? Who, if anyone, was he with? When had he written the note? How long had he been gone? Was he anywhere dangerous? What danger could he handle that she couldn't? Was he expecting to come back? Was he safe? Was he happy?

Rose's mind was like a battlefield of questions, each one striving to be the one she thought about first. She picked up the TARDIS key and gazed at it, enjoying the feel of the cold, comforting metal in her hand. She'd felt quite lost without it. But it was hardly something she could have spoken to the Doctor about. It was symbolic for her, if not for him. A symbol of the friendship they had. She had been heart broken when he had demanded it from her in heat of their argument and equally as scared that he would never trust her with it again. Never trust her with that little piece of him. Yet now he had given it back, in the space of a few words in a letter, as easily as if he had never taken it from her in the first place. He really had no clue what it meant, did he? That being the case, perhaps Rose was reading into it far more than she should.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting her thoughts. Tucking the key into her sleeve for now - where else could she put it? It wasn't as if this dress had a pocket - she went over to the door and opened it. A young woman stood with a smile on her face and a tray of breakfast by her side.

"Good morning, ma'am," she said with a courtesy. "Breakfast for you, if you don't mind."

"Right. Yeah. 'Course."

Rose stood aside to let the young woman in. She was timid and nervous, Rose could tell; maybe new to the job? Her brown hair was tied back in a loose bun and though her face was plain she had a life about her that Rose recognised and appreciated. The maid's blue eyes widened when she spotted the second cart, the one from last night.

"Let me take this," she said, going over to it and pulling it behind her. Then she glanced nervously up to Rose. "If you're finished, that is."

Rose smiled. "Yeah, I am. Thanks."

"Enjoy your breakfast. The man who requested it seemed quite adamant that you have the local delicacy. Picked it out especially. He said I should tell you that."

Rose's mouth thinned at the comment. She bade the maid a friendly but brief farewell, then walked tentatively back to her supposed breakfast. Just what sort of stunt had the Doctor pulled now? Frogs' legs? Snails? Some horrible pile of flesh pretending to have something to do with a cow? Rose hoped the Doctor wouldn't go that far.

Carefully, as if the thing were a bomb, she lowered her hand and peeked under the large, semi-circular lid. Seeing what was underneath, she let out a gasp, and lifted the lid clean off. Croissants. Real, French croissants that look moistened with flavour. Coffee. Jam. Cream. _Scones_, for pity's sake. Strawberries... The Doctor had really done his homework. She had never seen anything quite like it. It looked like a meal fit for... well, she didn't know who for. The Queen of France, she supposed. She let her eyes gaze over all the wonderful things on the tray in front of her. Something that looked like crystallised fruit in a bowl sparkled gently up at her. There was a plate and a knife, along with a mug for her coffee. The aroma lifted into the air, and as Rose inhaled, she could smell that it was the real thing. No disgusting instant cheap tat from Tesco's that she was used to on the TARDIS. No, not for her. Rose smiled; he'd really outdone himself.

Resting quietly on the plate she recognised another folded piece of paper. Picking it up, she couldn't help but smile at the simple words written across its centre.

_Like I said. Sorry I can't be there. Hope this begins to make up for it._

The writing wasn't his; most likely, he had told the kitchen staff what to write. Clever man, Rose thought. Didn't want to get caught, so left her a message instead. And it also meant that he probably wasn't coming back. That he knew he wasn't, in fact. When had he ordered breakfast? Was he here now, or had he just made sure it arrived at Nine o'clock?

Rose sighed and dropped into the sofa. What with the questions, she couldn't bear to eat any of the beautiful food on the tray. It would be like smudging the most beautiful painting in the world. How could she even begin to think about destroying what made it so lovely? But all right, perhaps just _one_ strawberry...

It got to half past nine, and Rose sat back happily on the sofa licking her fingers. One strawberry had turned into two croissants, two mugs of coffee, two halves of a scone - layered with jam and cream - countless strawberries and almost an entire bowl of crystallised fruit. Okay, so maybe the Doctor knew her better than she thought he did. He seemed to have judged the exact right quantity that she'd wanted to eat. If she were going to think about what was going on, she may as well eat, right?

Rose suddenly sat bolt upright on the sofa, her stomach protesting painfully. But she was staring at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nine thirty five. And he wasn't back yet. Should she go and check at reception? Probably. But Rose hadn't really thought that he wouldn't be back by now. Chances were, he had gone out fairly early. If he wasn't back by now, especially after that note, it meant that he was in trouble and needed her help. But what could she do? It wasn't as if he'd left her a trail of crumbs to follow. All he'd left was one hurriedly written note, and even that wasn't much to go on at the moment.

Still, it was always best to start somewhere, so she stood up and walked over to the sitting room door. With a final thought about whether she should leave or not, Rose shrugged off her uneasy feeling and stepped out into the corridor. It was only after the door had closed with a light 'click' that she realised the Doctor had the key. So, she was locked out and her companion-with-the-key had disappeared. Marvellous. Or, to borrow one of his favourites, fantastic. Sighing with tiredness, contempt and at the irony of the situation, Rose hitched up her dress and made her way swiftly to reception. She could at least _ask_ if they had seen any signs of the Doctor within the past few hours.

The receptionist was particularly unhelpful. He didn't seem to know what Rose was talking about, who the Doctor was or why she was looking for him. He had definitely not been in that morning. The receptionist didn't seem to know anything much, and kept squinting at Rose then speaking in hushed tones, very, very fast. He hadn't answered any of her questions and when he had spoken, it had been in French. Probably the TARDIS going on a malfunction trip, or something; it did that sometimes, right? And, considering Rose couldn't produce the key or any identification of who she was, she had eventually been escorted from the hotel as if she were a beggar on the streets.

"That's charming, that is," she snapped sarcastically as the receptionist and another, big, burly man took her by the forearm and shoved her out of the door. They sneered down their noses before returning to work. Rose swore in some colourful language, causing her to get distressed and shocked looks from passers by. She then continued to mutter things to do with the TARDIS' translation thing - whatever it was that made her understand other languages - and it being useless at gauging exactly when she did and didn't want speech translated. She'd have to speak to the Doctor about that. If she ever saw him again, that was, which was looking dubious for the moment.

The nice feeling her breakfast had given her was long evaporated. All she had now was a challenge with no way to solve it. She tried to think like the Doctor would and take the situation head on. But knowing him, an answer would probably just fall out of the sky and whack him on the head, whilst she would have to spend countless hours scrabbling around in the dirt for even the tiniest trace of a clue. He was lucky like that. No doubt, gallivanting off and being lucky right now. Time to think? She should have known him better than that; he'd gone off to find out more, and had left her behind.

Mumbling and muttering in lowered tones, Rose decided that the only sensible thing she could do right now was to find her way to the TARDIS. If they ever got separated, it was always the first place she was supposed to look anyway. That's what he'd told her. So, off she went, setting off up the cobbled path with her dress, now fairly dirty and worn, hitched up enough so that she wouldn't break her leg by falling over the ridiculous shoes.

It was quite a long walk back up to the TARDIS. How could she not have noticed so on their walk down? But it was probably because she was caught up in the Doctor's talking and spinning. When she was around him, Rose noticed that time seemed to fall away from them. It was probably something to do with him being a Time Lord and all that. She didn't really understand, but he didn't expect her to.

She kept putting one foot in front of the other, stalking away and out of the town. She didn't pass anyone else on the road out. It struck Rose as a little odd that it all seemed so deserted, but she didn't know anything about this era or this town, so perhaps she had no excuse to be thinking about it.

It was probably a good hour before she made it anywhere near the top of the hill. Rounding over the brow, key in her hand, she made her way over the TARDIS. Or, rather, the empty space where the TARDIS used to be. It had gone.

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The Doctor was running. He knew it was probably useless. He was fighting with himself to keep the tears back. There would be time to grieve later, he told himself. Right now, he had to escape. But that didn't stop his hearts from beginning to crack.

His breath was loud and broken as he ran. It had been a while since he had been pushed to his limits before. But this was definitely a limit. And he was losing.

He was running for his life. Not running 'very fast because he needed to get back to the TARDIS as quickly as possibly', but actually running for his life. The thing he seemed so keen on protecting these days. If he looked around to glance behind him, he would die. If he stopped, for just a second, to catch his breath, he would die. If he stumbled, he would die. There would be no doubt about it. Not even regeneration could save him from this. He had heard that Time Lords were outside time and space, and therefore beyond the realms of life and death. But it was not a theory he particularly wanted to test right now. Not when his heart was pounding, desperate to keep beating. Not when his legs were beginning to ache from the excessive running he was doing. Not when the stitch in his side was becoming so blindingly painful, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to even breathe. But he kept running nonetheless. For her.

If he gave up, she would die. She already had died, he knew. He'd watched it. But there was still a glimmer of hope. He could save her. If he could just reach his TARDIS in time...

How stupid had he been to leave her behind? How stupid had he been to expect her to just stay there, like a good little girl? He knew her better than that. He'd known, as he was scribbling the note on the piece of paper, that she wouldn't listen. And she hadn't. She had set off to look for him, for the TARDIS, and had found it gone. Not surprising, considering his track record. He cursed himself, his own name, in Gallifreyan. The insult was well worth it. He shouldn't have left. Should never have left. Should never have found that breadcrumb to lead him here, to this hell. Not without her. If he hadn't've been so stupid as to leave her, she would still be alive and the world would have a chance.

No, she wasn't truly dead. Not yet. If he could go back, warn himself... He knew it was probably more stupid than just giving up and dying. Cause another time paradox, probably. He had enough on his plate to deal with, without the reapers getting involved. But the idea had sparked and was now well set in his brain.

His pursuer was getting closer. He could feel it. He had never expected to outrun it, of course, but it was still a devastating shock. He gave up running for his own life and started running for hers.

It couldn't be far now. He had landed around here, surely? These streets certainly were looking familiar. The Doctor dodged around a corner, not caring that a shard of glass dug deeply into his leg, tearing through his close and ripping through his flesh. Because he recognised this place. Yes, the TARDIS wasn't far. If he could just will himself further... If he could get to the door and slam it shut behind him, then take it back... Then she would be all right. She wouldn't die. He couldn't say too much, obviously, but anything had to be better than this.

The cut from the glass was beginning to deepen and throb. He bit his tongue down to stop himself from breaking under the pain. He had to keep running. And suddenly, bang; the alley opened out into a street square.

Yes! The TARDIS! Oh, heaven and earth combined, he was saved! Rose was saved! The world was saved! The Doctor couldn't help grinning, even though there were tears in his eyes. His hearts were about to give up. So was the rest of his body. But there was the TARDIS, sitting in the middle of the square. Just a few more metres...

His leg buckled. He wasn't even sure what was happening until it was too late and his vision was falling to the ground. The glass, he realised, had sliced his leg muscle in a particularly weak point. Sort of like Achilles' heel. And blood had rushed to the cut, dripped down his leg in a river. His leg had been weakened because of one, stupid shard of glass. And then it had given way entirely and the Doctor was collapsing to the ground. He thought of how he'd failed. Everyone. The Earth. Himself. Rose. He'd failed them all. He'd _killed_ them all, just like Gallifrey. Because without him, there was no hope. He'd condemned them to death, all because he'd been too stupid to bring Rose with him.

And then he felt an intense pain rip through his entire body as his pursuer caught him. Landed on him. Devoured him.

And after that, he felt nothing.

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I think this would be a suitable moment to bring your attention back to that piece of glass, if only briefly. The Doctor, you see, had been running through streets and back alleys. Alleys set out rather like a maze. There were houses, too, which provided the foundation of the alleyways.

Some many hours earlier, a drunk had been wandering around in these back alleys. At about the same time, a housewife – about three storeys up – was doing some washing up. The end to a long day's cleaning. She was expecting her husband home soon, for it was getting late.

The bubbles from the water she was using were soft and soapy and, while she cleaned, a few were bouncing up into the air and floating around her. Having a particularly sensitive nose to these sorts of things, she sneezed. The window she had been working in front of was open; it was always open when she washed up, because it would just get too hot above that steaming sink. The sneeze had made her knock the sink with reaction. A wine bottle had been sat on the windowsill in front of her, waiting to be washed up. The sink was rather old, and as a result, wobbled more than it should have. With it, so did the wine bottle, which had been placed there in a quick flurry and was already rather unbalanced. It became unstable and then, before the housewife really noticed, it teetered and toppled out of the open window. It then fell to the floor gracefully, before smashing right in front of the drunk's feet. It had made him jump and turn to run away. He thought the sky was attacking him. As he turned and ran, ducking down to keep close to the floor, he flung his arm out in fear. His bottle of whisky was smashed against the corner of the house as he turned and ran further into the shadows.

That particular part of the house had been built in a hurry, because the builder had had to be home in time to see his mother away from a long visit. Consequently, the cement work was not as fine as it could have been. And a shard of glass from the whisky bottle became wedged firmly in the space between two bricks, where cement should have been.

Many, many hours later, it was this shard of glass, protruding unnaturally from the wall, that the Doctor caught his leg on as he rounded the corner a little too sharply. He had been slain by the consequences of a sneeze, and the whole world ended up suffering for it.

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Rose stood and stared. Her mouth was open in shock and anger. He'd done it. He'd really bloody done it. He'd left her. After he'd promised that he wouldn't. She blinked, but the empty space was still there. There was no doubt that this was where they'd stopped. But he'd left her, in early twentieth century France, to fend for herself. God knows what he was playing at. At least he'd be back, though. He wouldn't just up and leave like that for no reason. Something must have happened. He must have picked up a distress call that he'd needed to be answered, had to go somewhere that he couldn't take her. At least he'd be back.

Rose let out a loud, annoyed sigh. It was all very well to know that he'd be back; but what was she supposed to do until then? He still had the key to her room in the hotel, and she didn't have any money. All she had was the dress on her back, and even that was just borrowed. So, what, she was just supposed to sit around and do nothing?

Well, to hell with that. The Doctor had mentioned something about aliens, and there was still the mysterious writer of the letters to worry about. She wasn't just going to sit around and wait for him to solve it. If he were going to sod off and leave her, then, fine, she would figure it out on her own. Save the planet. Save the day. If he could do it, so could she, right? She just needed to borrow that cocky, arrogant attitude of his. Easy peasy.

In somewhat of a huff, Rose turned and marched straight for the town again. Well, she thought as she walked, at least she was getting some good exercise. She would remind the Doctor of this every single time he made a crack about her eating too many chips.

If he ever came back, that was. He would, she knew. But she didn't want to think about it.

As Rose walked off, she was unaware that out of a nearby bush, crouching in the dirt, there were two yellow orbs watching her every move. The cat had found her prey; and now, it was time to follow and see where it would lead.

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_I would absolutely _**love**_ to hear your thoughts on my work. Honestly, it would make my day. I'd love you forever. Really :D _


	6. Cheerio

_**A/N**: In an attempt to get this written up and uploaded quickly, it may be a little hurriedly written, so I apologise for any grammar/spelling mistakes. I have very little time on the computer these days - and hour here or there, at best. So I'm trying my best :) Also, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews of the last chapter :o Honestly, there's far too many of you to thank... I mean... Wow. I wasn't expecting response like that xD You make me keep writing, and it really matters. Anyway, pleasantries over now (yeah, count how many times I've used THAT word in this chapter :p) so you can get on with reading. Until my next update :3_

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Chapter VI - Cheerio

_Earlier that morning..._

There wasn't time. Well, all right, there was time, but he just pretended that there wasn't. No point in waking her, after all. Let her sleep. It was too dangerous and, like he said, there wasn't enough time.

The Doctor was pacing the living room. He looked at the clock. Six hours and fourteen minutes into the morning, and there was not enough time. He hadn't slept. But then, he hadn't been planning to. His brow was furrowed in a seemingly permanent frown. He had definitely seen something. And if he didn't act now, he would lose it. Lose his only clue. Lose his trail. Call it a stupid reaction, but right now, he was deciding whether or not he should wake the girl in the bedroom. He could take her with him, risk waking her from her sleep for nothing, take her away into the face of danger… Or he could leave her and be back before she even woke up. Pop out, just for a minute. She wouldn't even know he was gone. Decisions, decisions. He looked at the clock again. Six hours, fifteen minutes.

He had sat, for a long while, just staring out into the morning. He had watched as the sun began to creep up over the horizon and bathe the town in its treacle glow of warmth. He had taken enjoyment out of watching the colours in the sky change from a deep navy to a bruised grey, then a dusty pink, then a warm orange and now, finally, a calm blue. It was the perfect summer day. But he didn't have the time to enjoy it.

At about twenty to six, he had finally gotten up off the arm of the sofa and walked out to the balcony. The air was warm and comforting, the new sun warming everything it touched. The day had been fresh and warm and filled him with new hope. He had thought about leaving. He had thought about taking he and Rose far away, never to return. She didn't deserve to be caught up in this mess, after all. It wasn't her fault. Of course, now he was getting restless, because there was something nagging at his brain and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. There was a huge answer practically staring him down in the face, yet he couldn't see it.

He had stood on the balcony for a while, just thinking. Wondering. The letters. The cats. The raven. It just didn't make sense. And then he had seen it. In the early hours of the morning, a quick flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of black. The Doctor turned to his left, startled, and was in time to see a black figure swoop away into the sky. A black bird. A raven.

Well, that was it, wasn't it? That was the moment. The Doctor looked down to the street below. Some earlier risers of the town were beginning to wake. The start to a new day. But he wasn't watching the people or the shops or the houses. Down on the street, slinking away into the depths of one of the side alleys, was a small, black cat. And, as he watched, he noticed another appear from the other end of town and enter the same alley. Something was happening, and if he had any chance of getting to the bottom of it all, he had to know. Now.

So, here he was, pacing the living room with indecision. Wake Rose or leave her be. Risk her life for something that was probably nothing, or let her sleep. She could take care of herself if he left. For just a second. A pang of guilt went through him after last night. She had been mortified and angry; but this was different. He knew what was going on this time. It wasn't an adventure he was leaving her out of; it was danger he was keeping her safe from. His entire body was telling him that it was dangerous, so why should he submit her to that? He shouldn't, he decided. He had to keep her safe.

The decision made, the Doctor quickly scribbled a note – it was the least he could do, apart from buy her breakfast. Oh, that was a point. She would probably be hungry when she woke up. Mind, he'd be back by then. But just in case, he would order some when he went downstairs. Pausing for a moment with a frown on his forehead, the Doctor rummaged around in the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out the TARDIS key – the spare one – and laid it down next to his folded letter. It wasn't much, but it would do. It was now or never.

With a slight feeling of regret, the Doctor heaved a sigh, made for the door and bade Rose a silent goodbye. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – which, by the looks of things, it was fast becoming – he left.

The Doctor trotted down the stairs with a grin. The receptionist, he was pleased to see, as actually up at this sort of time. He flashed him a smile before he suddenly remembered Pierre and his nasty little scratch. Perhaps he should enquire.

"Morning Luc," he said brightly, coming to a stop in front of the desk.

"Sir," the receptionist replied politely. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah, actually. You can tell me about your buddy Pierre."

Luc raised his eyebrows.

"What of him, sir?"

The Doctor waved a hand up, as if swatting away a fly. "Call me Doctor. Much less formal. And I wanted to know if he's been in today."

Luc the receptionist shook his head. "His wife rang in and said he was sick. Said it must have been something he ate."

The Doctor let out a bark of laughter. "Not likely. Listen, d'you know if old Mike has has a word with him yet? Made him go see someone medical, that sort of thing?"

The other man sniffed in contempt. He liked this man, but there were some lines of informalities that were just not meant to be crossed. The manager was certainly not an 'old Mike' in his eyes.

"I haven't seen him," Luc replied, a little stiffly. The Doctor frowned, then shrugged.

"Maybe I'll pop in later, then." He made for the door but then, as if he remembered something, turned back to the receptionist. "Couldn't do me a favour, could you?"

Luc looked at him expectantly. The Doctor grinned.

"Send some breakfast up to room 27 for the lovely lady when she wakes up. Probably around nine." He laughed internally; there was no way Rose would be up at that time, but it would be funny to see her stumble out of bed just for some breakfast. He'd better make it worth her while. "Throw in some nice local things. I dunno. Croissants, crystallised fruit, that sort of thing."

"Very good, Doctor."

"Oh, and write her a note as well. That should do it. 'Like I said. Sorry I can't be there; hope this begins to make up for it.'"

Luc looked vaguely surprised, but did not protest. It was not his place to question the customers.

"Anything else?" he asked a little dryly. The Doctor caught his eye and grinned.

"Nah, that should do. Cheerio."

Cheerio? That was a new phrase, he thought as he began to leave. One he wouldn't be repeating any time soon, either.

"Doctor..." he heard from behind him. With a small roll of the eyes, he turned back. He really must leave now. Enough dawdling.

"Yes?"

"There was a letter left at the desk this morning. For the young lady in that room, it was said. Would you like me to send it up with breakfast?"

The Doctor's face instantly darkened.

"No," he said strongly. He paced back over to the desk, his eyes intense. Luc was rather taken aback, but took the care not to show it. It was a look that looked as if it could destroy the world. But then, it passed, and he was smiling again.

"I'll take it," he said lightly, putting his hand out. "I'll be seeing her later anyway."

Luc reached under the desk and brought out the blank envelope, now all too familiar to the Doctor. He hesitated before handing it over, if only for a second. He had the feeling he was handling something that went beyond just a letter. For just a second, the tiniest bit of a second, his work persona dropped away and he became his old, curious self.

"What does it say?" Luc was asking before he could stop himself. He instantly knew it was a mistake. He was not permitted to do anything invading the privacy of his customers. He never had before, so what had changed now? Could it purely be the presence of this controversial man standing before him? But the Doctor gave him a brief, understanding smile. As if this sort of thing happened around him all the time.

"Lady's eyes only, I'm afraid," he replied with modesty, even though he knew full well he'd be opening it as soon as he was outside the doors.

"Of course," Luc replied, shuffling some papers on the desk and not looking up. Embarrassed, and went to apologise. But the Doctor had already left.

Outside, on the steadily busying street, the Doctor was torn between indecision yet again. Pocket the letter and read it later, following where he had seen the cats disappear off to – which he had probably already lost – or read the letter and risk letting his source get away.

Making the decision, he set off down the street at somewhat of a jog. He could still get there. Maybe they'd left a clue. Maybe the sonic screwdriver could pick something up. He rounded the corner into the alleyway. Somehow, the entire thing seemed a lot less risky in broad daylight.

Just as he'd suspected, there was nothing. Not a sign. Damn it, he'd missed them. Still, he followed the alleyway anyway; just for fun. It was littered with cardboard boxes, broken glass, thrown out newspapers. Rather dingy, really. The Doctor stepped carefully over something sticky on the floor, which he had no desire in the slightest to find out what it was. At the end of the alley, he could see there was a metal fence shutting him off from the rest of it. He could climb it if he tried, but there didn't seem to be much point. There was no way the cats could have gone beyond it.

With a shrug, he leant against the wall with a sigh. He then instantly wished that he hadn't, for the slime on the floor was also splattered on the wall. And now his jacket. Fantastic. He looked at it with disgust. This was his favourite leather jacket. He knew he wouldn't change it just because of some gunk; it had gone through worse. But still... it was his favourite jacket and it mattered when he managed to wipe slime over it.

For now, however, he had the problem of aliens in cat-and-raven bodies to worry about. Or perhaps he should be getting back to Rose? But, before anything else, he knew, he would be reading that letter.

Carefully, as if it would tear in his hand if he handled it too roughly, the Doctor pulled the letter out of his pocket. He made a point of crunching up the envelope and throwing to the ground. As if it signified something. With a shrug, he looked at the letter and knew without a doubt that this would be a letter he would never let her see.

_My Dear,_

_You play a dangerous game. I saw you last night and I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you with your other. I had no idea I meant so little to you. Was our time together really such a lie? I had come to see if you had received my letter. Did you enjoy the champagne? But then, why should I care. It matters not. I will be coming for you. As you read this, I will be hunting for you. And I will find you. And after that, well, we'll be playing our own game, won't we? I showed you my plans and you seemed to take interest. I offered you the world, and you said you would gladly accept it. With my help, we could have been the greatest this planet has ever seen._

_But then you betrayed me and I was left cold and alone. All in the space of one evening. I knew, I could see in your eyes, that you loved the man you were with. And I see that he has been the one to give you the world, not I. But, as I said, it matters not. Because by the time you read this, your protector will be long gone. Away from you. He will be following the trail I have left and, well, the rest is history. You need not worry your head about it. Run now, my fair lady. Run, if you would satisfy my hunger for revenge a little longer. No doubt you have told this man of yours all about our little talks. How foolish. I could have given you everything, but instead, both you and he will have nothing. I will catch him before he gets the chance to destroy my plans, and he will be strung up like the thief that he is and his blood shall line the streets._

_As for you, I look forward to our meeting. You will pay for your impertinence. The world will bow to its new saviour, its new King, and you will have to make do with death. Before you ruin my plans entirely._

_Whether you run or not makes no difference. I'm coming and I will catch you. Until I see you, face to face._

_Farewell._

The Doctor felt sick. The writer of these letters was obviously a stalker with an obsession. And now, Rose's life was in danger. He had no idea if the letters were meant for her, but it all seemed to fit. That being the case, did a trap lure him here? Oh wonderful. Fantastic. He was such an idiot; lured away from Rose in a trap just so they could get to her with ease. Without him to protect her. And he'd left her. Idiot. He had to get back to her. Before it was too late.

"Thief! That letter was not meant for you."

The Doctor turned, startled. He looked into an empty alleyway. No one was there. But he knew better than to trust his eyes. Even with the sunlight, this alley was dark; there was someone there.

"What's the matter?" he scoffed. "Too afraid to show yourself."

The voice laughed. "Never."

And suddenly, out of nothing, there was a man. Standing in front of him. Materialised from nowhere, in the space of a blink. One second there was no one, the next, there he was. He was no taller than the Doctor, but he was lean and thin. His face was gaunt and sallow, with sunken eyes that dipped unnaturally in his head. His black hair was matted and greasy, and he wore a long, sweeping cape. His eyes, narrowed into slits, were a bright green. But they were hollow; void of anything human. His hands were long and bony, like a skeleton's, and his thin cheekbones were high, making him look as though he were constantly sneering. He looked like the empty shadow of a man, a ghost, a spectre; so it was fitting that he looked as though he had inhabited a lifeless corpse.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed.

"You're the one who's been writing the letters." It was a statement, not a question.

The man tilted his head and smiled, his teeth a gleaming white.

"And you're the one who's been reading them," he chuckled, but his voice was angry. His eyes became slits and his mouth thinned. "The one who's taken her from me. She was mine."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

"If you're talking about Rose, then no, she's not yours. And she's not mine either. She's her own."

The creature looked offended. "Rose?" he spat. "I know no Rose. I speak of Lady Rosaline, my dear companion. My lover and my mentor. My heart."

The Doctor had to hold back a snort of contempt. It was almost too funny for words. Or it would have been, if this creature had not been standing in the way of getting back to Rose. And he had a feeling he would not be getting out of the way any time soon. Not if the letter had been true.

"Who are you?" the Doctor asked, suddenly fierce, eying the creature with distrust. "And what do you want with this planet?"

It was now the creature's turn to frown.

"I shall grace you with these pleasantries," he replied after a while, his face dipped in a frown. "But only because it is amusing and a waste of your time."

The Doctor took a step forward menacingly.

"Tell me," he growled.

"Very well. I am Louis Moreaux. I have a plan, and you, sir, are getting in my way."

Oh, enough of this. He had to get back to Rose, to protect her. He should never have left.

"Actually, you're in mine," the Doctor countered. "And right now, I have a friend to get back to. See you."

"You will not save her!" Louis almost spat with rage. The Doctor rolled his eyes and made to get past him. But he found that he couldn't. His body wouldn't move to his command. He was thinking, telling his body to move. But he wasn't going anywhere. He was just standing in the alleyway, like some sort of stupid ape. What the hell was going on?

His head shot to Louis with rage.

"What have you done?" he demanded. He wasn't paralysed. He could move all he liked, walk backwards, move his head, edge closer to the man. But as soon as he tried to make a move past him, he just... wouldn't. Like the will to do so had been sucked out of him.

"I?" Louis questioned almost innocently, though his mouth was tipped up in a sardonic smile. "I have done nothing. If you wish to leave, I am not stopping you."

As if to emphasise the point, Louis stepped to the side, allowing the Doctor free access to leave. But he couldn't move. Wouldn't move, it seemed. Something – or someone – was keeping him here. He strained. Again. Nothing. It was no use. Eventually, he swung his head back to the creature Moreaux. He was not admitting defeat; but he needed more answers.

"What do you want?" he asked, and his voice was filled with the hate he felt. "Money? Goods? To bury this planet in its own history? What?"

"My my, you are certainly impulsive for someone of your age," Moreaux commented with ease. "Most fascinating."

"All right, I get it," the Doctor replied. "You've done some hocus pocus with my mind. Taken away my will to leave. For now. But it won't help you. You'll never get to her."

"Oh?" Moreaux asked, with a smirk. "And why's that? _Doctor_?"

The Doctor could feel the blood falling from his face. He had never mentioned his name, and the way in which the creature said it implied that he knew a lot more than he was letting on. A _lot_ more.

"Are you going to perform one your infamous rescue tasks?" Moreaux mocked with a wicked grin. "Are you going to find a way to escape and get to her before my followers do? Are you going to find your way to her heart where I have failed?"

The Doctor was confused. He was hurt. He was scared. But he didn't let it show. Instead, he flashed his trademark disarming grin.

"Yeah," he said, with a nod of his head. "I'm going to do all of that. I'm going to find a way out of this psycho game you're playing. I'm going to get back to my friend, save her life, scare away your nasties, save the world and then, just to top it all off, I'm going to come back for you."

"Brave words for a man with no plan," laughed Moreaux, shaking his head. "Or should I say – Time Lord?"

This was too much. The Doctor had never mentioned who he was. It wasn't uncommon for alien life to know of him, but even so, this was just strange. As if, as time were going on, Moreaux were learning more and more about him.

"What do you want with Earth?" the Doctor demanded again.

"I want what any man wants, Doctor. I want the power to do exactly as I please. To be King."

"And enslave the human population in the meantime, I suppose."

Moreaux frowned. "If needs be, yes, I suppose you're right. But that is a matter that has no meaning either way."

"Then what's the point? Why Earth? Why here? Why now? There's _loads_ of other nice, little pretty planets out there you could subject to your senseless plan. Less trouble, too. Smaller."

"You make no sense, Doctor. Why would I, a son of this planter, wish for anything else? You talk of planets and stars as if you aren't the only one to touch them."

The Doctor blinked for a moment. Was Moreaux speaking in riddles on purpose, or did he just get a hell of a lot more stupid?

"I'll spell it out for you," the Doctor said slowly, with a frown. "Why – have – you – bothered – with – Earth? It's a small planet, out of the way. Pretty boring, actually. There's so much more out there. Why bother?"

"Because, Doctor. It's my home." Moreaux sounded genuinely surprised. "My kingdom. It is mine."

The Doctor's face relaxed into surprised realisation. "You're not an alien, are you? You were born and bred, right here." His eyes widened. "You're a human."

Moreaux laughed. "And they said the man was clever!" he scoffed with his sardonic smile. His eyes glinted with malevolence.

"Who?" the Doctor demanded, his fists clenching. "Who said? Who are you working for? Because whoever it is has you wrapped around their little finger."

Moreaux's eyes narrowed. "Enough talking. The time for pleasantries is over. It's time you understand the consequences of meddling in a sorcerer's plans."

"Sorcerer?" the Doctor marvelled with appalled amusement. "You've got to be joking. That's just an Earth myth. 'Magic' doesn't exist. And you're just another stupid little ape if you think it does. If you can't see you're being manipulated."

"I've been given the power to make the myth a reality, Doctor," Moreaux sneered, with an air of contempt.

"And you'll die believing it," the Doctor spat back. "I'm telling you, if you don't start listening to me, whoever has you doing their dirty work is going to kill everyone on this planet. And you. Everyone's in danger – "

"Silence!" Moreaux roared, with a wave of his arm. The Doctor did so. He couldn't believe it. His brain was screaming at him, talk, run, do _anything_. But he couldn't. He just stood there. Staring. Moreaux smiled at him.

"Still think my magic is child's play? Very well. I'll show you the true extent of my powers. But first, I will find the girl. My lady. And I can't have you getting in my way!"

"She's innocent," the Doctor protested at once. At least his voice was back. "You've got her confused with somebody else. She has nothing to do with it. Any of it. Just let her go."

"You are in no position to be making demands, Doctor. I will wait until she wakes. Perhaps she will run, perhaps she will not. She may not have had the letter, but it matters not. She will come to me eventually. In the meantime, I shall find a way to keep you silenced."

And the next thing the Doctor knew, he was falling. Through a darkness that was deeper than the universe. He was unaware that his body was falling to the floor as he crumpled into unconsciousness.


	7. Kill For Her

_**A/N**: This chapter is far from my best as the plot of this story is being drawn out much more than I meant it to. I am getting tired, not to mention less and less hours on here to be able to write it up anyway. So you'll have to forgive my lack of updates, should that happen. I'm either busy or have given up on it entirely (which I don't intend to do, but you never know). Wish me luck! Thanks to _**Lady-Mearle**_ and _**Luna Lovegood5**_, as well as _**salriann****a**_ and _**SnarkyCoffee**_. Everyone who reviews is amazing, but you guys especially. Thanks for the support :)_

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Chapter VII – Kill For Her

Okay. She had no money. No ideas. Nowhere to go. No TARDIS. And no Doctor. He even had the damned letters. All Rose had was some snatched conversation about cats. And aliens. But that was about it. And on her walk back down to the town, Rose had had that all too familiar feeling that she was being watched. She had turned to look every few hundred metres, but there had always been nothing. The feeling didn't ease, though.

Now, she was back in the town. Happy little Saint-Émilion, at about half past eleven in the morning. And she was back in the hotel. In front of the reception desk. Asking the receptionist if he had heard anything strange about cats. At least she heard he was speaking in English again.

"Cats?" he questioned with a frown. He was a fairly tall man – taller than the Doctor – with a mass of dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. His face was smooth and he had a very straight, prominent nose. Attractive, in a way.

"Yeah. You know, four legs. Fur. Say 'meow'."

Luc raised a sceptical eyebrow, before heaving a sigh.

"We had some cat trouble last night. But that was it. Had an odd fellow talk to us about the same thing, actually."

"Yeah, the Doctor. You haven't seen him, have you?"

Luc looked down to the papers in front of him, moving behind the desk, pretending he had some work to be doing.

"I can't relay information about the customers," he said simply and he didn't look up. "You've already inconvenienced me with your questions earlier today. At least, I think you did. Couldn't understand a word you were saying."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Rose muttered, though she didn't mean it. "Anyway. The Doctor? Leather jacket? Kind of... rude?"

Luc looked up.

"I know the man. I just can't tell you. Customer's privacy."

"Right," Rose frowned. This was getting her nowhere. Two hours since the Doctor had told her to ask at reception, and they weren't saying anything anyway. And he wasn't back. In his letter, he said that he would be. She knew he wouldn't leave unless he really needed to; but it still hurt. She was worried about him and she needed to find him so that everything would be all right. They had been split up before, of course they had. But at least Rose had had known they were on the same planet. With the TARDIS gone he could be anywhere – literally _anywhere_ – in the entire universe. Without her.

"Look," Rose said with a sigh, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. The Doctor could do it; so could she. "I know you, like, can't say. And I get that, I do. But the Doctor's different, yeah? He's not your 'normal customer' type. He knows things and... he's disappeared. I just need to know he's all right."

She looked at Luc pleadingly. This was her last shot. He held her eye contact and seemingly wavered.

"You must be the girl..." he murmured softly. Rose's frown turned to that of confusion.

"What girl?"

"Room 27," Luc replied, a little hesitantly. If he were wrong, then he could get in huge trouble for saying it.

Rose's face flooded with relief. "Yeah," she breathed happily. "That was our room. But the Doctor has the key and – "

"And he's disappeared," he finished for her, with a raised eyebrow. Where earlier in the conversation he had been unhelpful and avoiding her eye-contact, now he was as attentive as ever. He glanced down to the reception book. "Doctor John Smith and Rose Tyler," he read aloud. His eyes glanced up to Rose, though he didn't move his head.

"Yeah, that's me," she confirmed, not wanting to get any further off track than she already was, "And if you could just tell me where the Doctor went, I'll leave, I promise. But first I just need to know if he said anything, if he's all right."

Luc looked at her, bringing his head up. The poor woman; she looked as though she hadn't slept properly in days. He remembered the shady, uncertain character who had dropped off the letter this morning, adamant that it should be given to her and only to her when she woke up, alone in her room. He had broken that promise when the Doctor had turned up, light heartened and with a pleasant morning grin. The grin that had vanished when Luc had mentioned the letter... when he had handed it over... It was as if the Doctor had seen the letter before and knew what it held.

He gave up and nodded his head slowly. Leaning forward and lowering his voice so that no one would hear – which was ridiculous, considering they were alone – he spoke.

"This man you speak of. The Doctor. He was here this morning and requested I send some breakfast up to you. Earlier this morning, a gentleman delivered a letter for you for when you woke, Miss. The Doctor wanted to see it, then took it away with him when he left. That was about half past six this morning. And that's all I can tell you."

"Right..." Rose said with a frown, thinking fast. "And this letter – it was blank, right? No markings?"

Luc nodded. "That's right."

"Did the Doctor say where he was going? Or where I could find him?"

"No. He never brought it up. Sorry."

"S'ok," Rose shrugged. "It's not your fault he has the attention span of a goldfish and a sense of time to match. Honestly, it's gonna get him killed one of these days."

Luc gave her an understanding smile, even though he had no idea what she was talking about. She thanked for his help with a grin and left. So, the Doctor had found another letter and had run off with it. What did it say? Rose wished he were around to ask; but then again, if he were, she wouldn't even be in this problem. She already missed his quirky attitude and lively smile; the feel of his fingers around hers. Rose had a hauntingly familiar feeling that he was in the sort of trouble only she could get him out of.

Rose found that her feet were walking. She didn't know why, or where, but she supposed she had better follow them anyway. Perhaps they would lead her to the Doctor. What had he said? '_A Time Lord's feet do tend to wander_'. Perhaps hers did too.

The sun was beating down on her like a marching band from the sky. It was nice to have the feel of fresh sun on her face and a warm wind blow mildly at her face. The town was filled with cobbled streets and wonderful luxurious shops, as well as the absolutely gorgeous houses. The streets she was following were conspicuously narrow and every now and then, they branched off into yet further streets and marvels. The buildings were high and did not seem to follow any sort of order. Rose passed a collection of houses, then a shop, then another few houses, then a grocery store, and then an old, abandoned house, with the tall windows bordered up.

At the next fork she came across, Rose took a left. After following the street a way, greeting a few people who met her eye contact as she walked, she found herself in an expansive village square. In the centre, she noticed, was a water fountain, magnificently carved out of beautiful stone. A man and a woman – naked, Rose noticed, though any private parts were conveniently covered – were stood in what looked like the beginnings of a beautiful garden. The woman was arched into a graceful curl, whilst the man was carved elegantly around her. The woman's head was turned against her neck and she was looking fondly into the eyes of the man, who had his left arm curved protectively around her. Their faces were that of pure completion and happiness. Carved along the rim of the pool were the words 'Les Deux Amoureux', which, Rose remembered from her French classes, roughly meant 'the two lovers'. Rose gazed back up at the couple and stood for a moment, entranced with the picturesque piece of art.

At the other end of the square stood a magnificent church, with a bell tower that swept so high into the sky it could have plucked the sun out of the sky. Around the square there were grassy banks, sporting poplar trees planted expertly apart. Around the perimeter of the square were a number of marble benches, and on one or two of these, couples and friends were sat, sharing all the secrets of the universe. Rose smiled. Oddly enough, she felt quite at home here. But she missed the Doctor. Had he been here before? Would he had taken her here if he hadn't have become side tracked? Would he have wanted to share this with her?

Wandering off on to one of the paths, which spread away from the square, and letting her feet lead her, Rose wondered where the Doctor was now. It was so unlike him to just up and leave like that. Normally, he would have taken her hand and insisted that she never left his side; so what had changed?

Rose found herself in the middle of what looked to be a marketplace. Colourful stalls spread away from her down the cobbled path, each lined with fascinating bits and pieces. There were wonderful clothes, jewellery, animals carved from wood, instruments – hand carved panpipes and recorders were just a few of these – mirrors... the list went on. Rose took great enjoyment out of looking at the beautiful pieces and felt a pang of regret that she had no money to buy anything with. Still, she could still _see_ all the wonders, and that was enough for her happy little heart.

It was while Rose was handling a silken, pink scarf that she happened to glance up and see it. Her face froze in shocked fear. A few metres away, examining another stall, was a woman. Her hair was shoulder length and a dark brown. Her skin was fair and pure and, even without being that close, Rose knew that the woman had deep chocolate eyes, a small, dainty nose and a smiling mouth. And she knew it because she was looking at herself. Her heart skipped a beat. Two of her. Same time, same place. Had a future self of hers travelled back in time? It must be far in the future, if so... the Rose she was looking at looked older, late twenties at least. She was wearing contemporary clothes for this era. Her hair was its natural shade, brown, undyed. Why was she not worried about being caught in the open? Did that mean there were two Doctors? What on Earth was going on?

Rose II was beginning to leave the stall she was examining – an assortment of bracelets and rings – and move on to another. Rose's face dropped. She had to talk to her. She knew that if there were two of her in the same place, they couldn't – shouldn't – meet. It would cause some sort of temporal space and time paradox, or something just as long and confusing. But she still had to talk to her; everything in her body was telling her to. Since she had met the Doctor, she had learned, because he had taught her, to trust her instincts. They were sometimes wrong and sometimes she got herself into trouble; but she listened nonetheless. What else was there to do?

She put the scarf back on the stall and made her way towards the other woman. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she would get an answer about the Doctor.

And suddenly, Rose felt a strong, icy grip on her upper arm. She turned and looked into the face of a ghostly white woman. Harsh green eyes shone out of her face and her hair was a mass of fair, blonde ringlets. Her mouth was thin and her cheeks pinched, as if she had not eaten in days. She was attractive, in a ghoulish way.

"Lady Rosaline; we meet at last."

Her voice was airy and whispered, as though she had not spoken in years. As if she were full of age, despite her young complexion.

"What?" Rose asked with a frown. "You've got me confused with someone else. My name's Rose," she said, trying to break free from the relentless grip. But she couldn't; the woman was too strong.

"Lies cannot save you now," the woman laughed hollowly, throwing her head back slightly. Rose cast a fearful glance at the second her, getting further and further away. She would miss her chance entirely if she didn't get to her. And then it clicked. This... other her. She wasn't from the future. It wasn't Rose, just someone who looked like her. Enough like her for people to get confused. She was Lady Rosaline. She was the on the letters were meant for. And _she_ was the one who was in danger.

"Moreaux has asked me to collect you. He said you would pay for you betrayal to him with your life."

Maybe not.

"Look," Rose tried to explain desperately, looking to the woman and still trying to wriggle out of her grip. "You've got the wrong girl. I'm not La – "

The rest of the sentence was cut off as she felt herself stop talking. It was strange – she just didn't have the will to talk. The woman in front of her gave her a pleased, sardonic smile.

"This way, my Lady," she hissed and began to lead Rose away from the market. Rose couldn't cry out. She couldn't fight against the grip. She just had to follow this woman, seemingly out of control of her own actions. So she had no choice; perhaps this 'Moreaux' would be able to give her some answers. What had the Doctor said? Always find the heart of the problem and go from there. Well, she would. And, Rose knew as she stepped alongside this woman, it would be the worst mistake Moreaux ever made. Bring it on.

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The Doctor blinked his eyes open. Okay, so he was alive. Good start. However, he also had a headache the size and magnitude of the intergalactic channel and he was firmly gripped on either side by strong, untalkative, large men, who looked so rigid they could have been made of stone. He couldn't move. He struggled against the grips on his arms, but they only tightened. He had to stop eventually, for fear that his arms may be squeezed into oblivion. He looked from one to the other with questioning eyes. They weren't moving. They were both staring straight ahead, as if they hadn't even noticed the Doctor had woken up. In fact, come to think about it, he wasn't even sure that they had.

"Hello," he said, looking from one to the other with a frown. "You seem to have my arms, and I'd kind of like them back. D'you mind?"

He heard a low chuckle from ahead of him and had no choice but to look. He noticed, at last, where he was. A dark cave. Dirty leaves on the floor mingled with mud and surrounding him were low, menacing rocks. The cave entrance was a few metres away, showing trees. They were in the middle of a wood, surely. Fantastic. How so very original.

The Doctor looked ahead of him, his eyes straining against the shadows.

"They won't release you," he heard Moreaux's voice drawl. The Doctor sighed; not this clown again. "They're well trained.

"Oh, nice to know you took the trouble, just for me. I'm flattered."

Moreaux stepped forward, his face drawn in a sneer. Mind you, the Doctor noted, it would be difficult to tell if it were otherwise.

"Well, it's not every day I meet a Time Lord. The last Time Lord, come to that; wouldn't want you getting away."

"Yeah, about that. How do you know so much about me? We're in the middle of a wood, in a cave, probably somewhere nice and far away from any civilisation, yet you claim to know all this stuff about me. So, come on then, out with it. What's going on? What do you want from me?"

"What makes you think I need anything from you, Doctor?"

Moreaux's voice was full of scorn, but the Doctor was used to reading signals humans gave off: he was on to something. All he had to do was get back to Rose. From there, he could fix it.

"Because if you didn't, I'd be dead about now, and your little buddies here wouldn't be having to hold me back."

Moreaux's lips tightened and his eyes narrowed with such anger that they looked as though they could shoot sparks. It was a telltale sign that the Doctor was right.

"Doctor," he said slowly, his eyes curling around themselves. "I am going to be frank with you. Lady Rosaline – what exactly does she mean to you? Would you die for her? Kill for her?"

"Don't know," the Doctor shrugged, with difficulty. The grips on his upper arms were still strong. "Never heard of her."

"Well then. Perhaps _this_ will refresh your memory," Moreaux growled maliciously, and all of a sudden, he stepped forward and held out his hand. It was in a fist, clasped around a cylindrical metal object, thick and large, with rounded corners. It looks like a giant medicine capsule, only made of a gleaming copper metal. Various knobs and switches stuck out from it at odd angles, as well as transmitters and receivers. Red lights were flashing incessantly from a small nook in the metal, in no particular rhythm. But this simple piece of metal was enough to make the Doctor feel a blinding pain rip through him. His headache increased and began to spread to every single cell in his body, making him feel as though every part of him were trying to split itself apart. He writhed with the pain, his eyes clasped shut to desperately try and shut it all out. He felt surrounded by it, suffocated by it. Every muscle in his body hurt, every organ, every cell, every part of him was screaming at him to somehow make it stop.

And then, suddenly, it did. The pain eased back into a dull headache as Moreaux withdrew his hand and the Doctor's senses returned. He opened his eyes. He was dizzy and slightly disorientated and panting hard and heavily. But at least his body had stopped trying to rip itself apart.

"What are you doing with that?" the Time Lord panted with a mingle of horror and anger. His head hung with grief and disappointment, as well as a tiny bit of fear. His hearts were racing. "That's Time Lord technology. No stupid ape has the intelligence to know what they're doing, let alone how to get their hands on it. Which means someone gave it to you." The Doctor raised his head, his eyes flashing. "Who?"

"Doctor," Moreaux persisted, ignoring the question. He raised an eyebrow. "I will only ask once again. What of Lady Rosaline? What has she told you?"

"I told you, I don't know her. My friend Rose is the one I brought here, the one who's caught up in all of this. I've never met your Rosaline. Sounds vaguely Romeo and Juliet, though, don't you think?"

Moreaux ignored him, his hand tightening around the device in his hand.

"I saw her on your arm in the restaurant. You danced with her in the living room. You looked into her eyes and saw the world. I saw it; you can't tell me you don't know of whom I am speaking."

"Oh. Oh, this is rich," the Doctor laughed, with a sudden, pitiful realisation. He raised an eyebrow as he continued, struggling against the grips on his arms. "D'you know what you've gone and done? You're so stupid you've gone and stalked the wrong bloody woman. I'll tell you what – your informant? The one who knows 'all about me'? Well, you might want to tell them that they need to update their systems. I'm not just the Doctor any more. I'm the Doctor plus one. Rose Tyler. She's my companion and, for some unfathomable reason, you seem to think she's the woman you want. Bit she's not and unless you let her out of this mess, alive, you're going to have more on your plate than you can handle. Because trust me, if you lay a finger on her, if you harm _one_ tiny hair on her head, I swear to whoever you've been working for that there wont be anything on this planet capable of stopping me from ripping you and all your stinking little plans to pieces."

"Charming sentiment," snarled Moreaux with viciousness. "But if what you say is true Doctor, then she is even more invaluable to me than I realised."

"How's that?" the Doctor questioned, his eyes daring.

"You'll do anything to keep her alive, I'll bet. I'm the one with the upper hand, meaning that even as we speak, my spies are on her. Watching her. She has no escape, whether she's Lady Rosaline or this 'Rose Tyler'. And if you want her to stay living and breathing, then I strongly suggest that you do as I say."

"And what's that, then?" the Doctor demanded with disgust, realising that he had walked himself right into a corner; he may well have just sealed Rose's fate, all because of him and his big mouth. So now he had to play an even more dangerous same, and he was betting Rose's life.

Moreaux edged closer to him, his eyes malevolent. Even though the Doctor showed no signs of struggling now – he knew if he escaped then Rose would probably pay for it – the grip on his arms still tightened.

"Your TARDIS is the last in the universe. That makes it unique and, consequently, very useful to me. If you hand it over, I shall let the girl live."

The Doctor's eyes widened and his face hardened. He couldn't give up his TARDIS. No doubt this lump of slime would use it to end the world. Or, worse, his superiors – whoever _they_ were – would use it to destroy the timeline and mess this entire planet up. Rose's planet. That meant Rose's future. So, if he saved her, he would be sentencing her future to God knew what. But he couldn't let her die. Because then it was all over anyway. He was trapped, with no way out. No answer. And the indecision was clear on his face.

"Stupid, cocky, arrogant little Time Lord," Moreaux laughed, throwing his head back. "So small in the universe, yet the entire thing relies on your decision. What should you listen to, your head or your heart? Submit this planet to my mercy and keep your little friend, or condemn her to death and lose the one thing that keeps you holding on to your humanity?"

He put his face dangerously close to the Time Lord's, victory clear on his face.

"I shall leave you with the decision. You have half an hour, Time Lord. Make your choice wisely. Because it will be your last."

Moreaux gave a last laugh, then began walking away to the mouth of the cave. The Doctor suddenly felt the grips on his arms loosen entirely, and for a moment, he thought he was free. But then he found himself crushed against the wall of the cave, the rocks digging painfully into his back. Some sort of invisible chains held down his arms, and he couldn't move. Trapped. The two men who had been guarding him began to follow Moreaux and, as the Doctor watched, the suddenly turned in to two cats strutting out of the cave. Just like that. Well, at least he knew who the raven was now; but he'd as good as guessed anyway.

The Doctor leant his head back against the rocks in defeat, his eyes closed. Save the world and lose Rose, or save Rose and destroy her future – and everyone else's, come to that – in the meantime. How could he make that decision?

"Remember, Time Lord," the voice floated back into the cave, surrounding him. "Half an hour. Eleven o'clock. Then you shall make your decision."


	8. Lead the Way

_**A/N**: Huzzah! A few days on my own (with the computer whenever I want it) and some nice inspiration. Thanks to a dream, at least. Anyway, can't promise when the next chapter will be up, but at least now I'm entierly sure what I'm doing with this story. I hope you can spot a difference, and I'm sorry you had to trawl through all that "leading up" stuff xD My thanks remain heartfelt and, remember, reviews make me update more! And a happy bunny :D_

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Chapter VIII – Lead the Way

The seconds ticked by. Save Rose, destroy her future. Save her planet, destroy her. Tick. Tick. Tick. Rose. The World. Rose. The World. Damn it, why did it always have to come down to an ultimatum like this? Why didn't whoever was trying to take over the planet want world peace? Feed the starving, end poverty, all that sort of stuff? Tick. Tick. Lord of Time, and he couldn't stop the seconds from slipping away from him. And he couldn't make his decision either.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Time was running out. If he didn't make a decision, Rose would die anyway. Oh, how could he have been so stupid as to leave her? He hoped she would be clever enough to figure out what was going on, what to do and how to save both of them. But that was a lot of responsibility for one little person and as brave and clever as she was, even _he_ couldn't figure out what was going on.

Okay, so this is what he had: he was being held captive by a force he couldn't fight. Yet. Moreaux wasn't the threat – he was easily manipulated. But it was whoever he was working for that would be the cause of the problems. Obviously they had a wide knowledge of who he was and, even more startling, had somehow gotten hold of Time Lord technology. Well, all right, perhaps not their technology per se; the thing Moreaux had used was made and designed for one thing. To kill Time Lords. There was no way it had fallen into Moreaux's hands by accident, which meant that someone out there had a score to settle against him.

And then there was this mysterious 'Lady Rosaline'. Moreaux seemed adamant to want to see her, and the fact that he thought Rose was this woman brought up even more baffling questions. Who was she? What part did she have to play in all of this? And just what did she have to do with Rose? Poor Rose – he'd submitted her to danger once again. The monsters had found him. They always did. But, if he ever got out of this mess, he vowed to himself that he would save her. One way or another.

The Doctor couldn't even struggle against his invisible restraints. He was overcome with the sudden will to do nothing again; like there were restraints on his mind rather than around his arms, legs and neck. There really was nothing he could do. Just stand and wait until his time was up. Oh yes, his decision. How much time had gone by now?

He heard a rustling some way off from him, on the other side of the cave. He squinted into the darkness, but couldn't see anything.

"Come to spy on me, have you?" he asked irritably with a sigh. "There's really no point, you know. I'm not going anywhere."

From the darkness, walking towards him, he saw a cat. It was white and slender and had a purpose in its step. It stopped a few feet away from him, its bright eyes sparkling up to the man in wonder.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and leant his head back against the cave wall again.

"Great," he murmured with sarcasm. "Fantastic. More cat spies; that's just what I need."

The cat cocked its head to one side, then sat on its hind legs, keeping its round eyes firmly on the Doctor.

"Well, go on then," he snapped, looking down to the animal. "Don't just sit there. Do whatever it is you were sent to do."

The cat gave a small but definite nod of its head and then, quite suddenly, before the Doctor there stood a woman. She was tall and proud, with a head of straight, smooth auburn hair. Her skin was white, as white as the light clothes that were draped loosely around her. Her cheeks were scattered with delicate freckles and she stood with her arms folded, a raised eyebrow and a slight smile on her thin lips. Her deep, brown, rusty eyes sparkled back at him inquisitively.

The Doctor's face fell with wonder and surprise, before cracking into one of his largest grins, his eyes dancing with the happiness of a million children.

"The messes you get yourself in to, Doctor," she laughed with a smile, shaking her head. "Anyone would think you had a death wish."

"Well, you know me," he grinned back, with an audacious wink. "Can't resist a bit of life threatening adventure. Mind giving me a hand?"

"Of course."

The woman gave a wave of her fingers and all of sudden, the Doctor felt the restraints on his mind and limbs loosen. He brought his arms up, flexing his hands with delight.

"Thanks. Good to be back," he said brightly, before letting his gaze fall to the woman in front of him. If possible, his grin widened. "Avoria," he said gently. "You have no idea how much you've just saved my life. What are you doing here, of all places?"

She smiled, but brought a hand up to wave his question away.

"There will be time for this later. Moreaux will be back any minute and if he sees I have let you go, it will be your Rose who has to pay."

"You know about Rose?"

"Thanks to your talking, I do. But come, we must leave now. We'll be safe in your TARDIS for the moment, I think."

The Doctor's face looked grim and he let out a sigh. "One problem with that. I left the TARDIS outside Saint-Émilion. I've no idea where we are now, but my guess is it'll be a while away."

"You worry too much," Avoria laughed. Her laugh was soft and new, like a child's. Her eyes sparkled at him. "And you forget who you're with. Trust me."

He caught her eye in realisation.

"All right!" he beamed. "Lead the way."

The two of them left the cave hurriedly. Out in the open, the Doctor could see that they were indeed in a wood, on a hill. The cave was carved into the side like a vast, open mouth and though trees surrounded them, they were thin and it was easy to see through them. The Doctor frowned and turned left and right, as if he couldn't quite believe where he was.

"We're still in Saint-Émilion," he said with wonder as he turned back to look at Avoria. She smiled and nodded.

"For all his intelligence, Moreaux is not so bright as to take you too far away from your TARDIS. No doubt he thought you wouldn't possibly pick the girl over the world, and he would want you to show him how to use it. So why would he be too far away?"

"Only Time Lords can use the TARDIS," the Doctor corrected, putting his hands in his pocket.

"I know that. But he doesn't."

The Doctor looked at the tall woman for a moment. "What do you have to do with this?" he mused eventually, his eyes looking at her questioningly. She cleared her throat and looked away.

"It's a long story," Avoria sighed. "And it is not safe yet. We must hurry."

"Right you are. Off we go, then."

The Doctor started off at a jog out of the little wood, recognising instantly where they were. After a few minutes, he came to the edge of the trees and, ahead of him, he saw the familiar blue of the police box. His TARDIS. He was saved.

With a skip in his step he ran down to it and slipped the key into the lock with glee, turning to look for Avoria. She was walking swiftly behind him and was at his side in no time.

Pushing the door open, the Doctor held his arm out.

"Ladies first."

She flashed him a smile. "Always the perfect gentleman, in any incarnation."

She stepped inside the TARDIS, closely followed by the Doctor, who promptly locked the door behind him. Avoria stood for a moment, marvelling at the inside of the TARDIS with a smile playing in her eyes. She turned, slowly, to find the Doctor looking at her with folded arms and an expectant expression on his face.

"It's changed," she said simply. He nodded, with a smile.

"Yup. I preferred the modern look."

She cocked an eyebrow at his leather jacket. "So I see."

He grinned at her. "As much as I want to know why you're here, I have a companion to save. Excuse me a minute."

He made to leave the TARDIS, but Avoria was suddenly at his side in a second, looking intently into his eyes. She had a warning on her face.

"No Doctor," she said, shaking her head. "You can't save her. Not yet. Too much has to happen."

His brow furrowed with confusion. "I don't go anywhere without Rose. I shouldn't have left her in the first place, and I'm not about to up and leave now, when she needs me most. If I leave, she's as good as dead if Moreaux has anything to do with it."

"Not if I don't tell him so."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed and, for a moment, his lips thinned in anger. But he let it pass, remembering that, for the moment, this was his friend – his old friend – and that she would never betray him. Instead, he cleared his throat and took in a breath.

"All right," he conceded at last, though his voice was grave. "Tell me what's going on."

Avoria nodded, if a little reluctantly. "I came here a few Earth years ago, despite my better judgement. I was looking for adventure and I found it. It was a challenge. One of my own challenged that I would not be able to make it to Earth and back without the use of a teleportation device. Stupid in hindsight, but I was young and restless. So I came. I beg you not to ask how I managed it, because the guilt I feel for what I did haunts my nightmares every night. But I managed. And then, I realised I had been fooled, for there was no way to get back to my planet. No way home. I was stuck here, with nobody but _her_ for company."

Avoria was wandering the console room as she spoke, her head hanging slightly. She was graceful and elegant in her step, but there was something oddly sad in her movements. The Doctor nodded slowly. He knew exactly what she was talking about. Avoria was from a small planet he had helped, a long while back. During his stay, she had aided to no end with his battle there. He had asked her to come with him on his travels – and she had said no.

Just as there were Time Lords, there were the Seers. They sometimes travelled to other planets with their great knowledge to aid the planet in extending its knowledge of the universe. Avoria was one of these, but she was special. In her creation, there had been two for the same body; Avoria, as she was now, and Ebony, her counterpart. Most of the time, she was able to control her darker side. The side that wanted to hurt people, that wanted to use her knowledge for her own personal gain and who was always, always searching for more. When the Doctor had known her last, he had helped Avoria deal with her 'inner demon', so to speak. Avoria had learned how to control and suppress her unwanted side, but had claimed that she wasn't able to join the Doctor on his travels, as the knowledge she would be given may be too much of a temptation for Ebony to endure. Reluctantly, and ever so slightly heart broken, the Doctor had accepted this and had left the planet in peace.

That had been about one-hundred-and-seventy years ago.

"I'm guessing you lost control, then," the Doctor meant to say sympathetically, but it came out a little harsher than he meant. Avoria couldn't quite meet his eye.

"In more ways than you can ever know. At first, I wanted to leave and get away from this planet as fast as possible; back to my home of Lithereal. But then, Ebony began to get stronger. This world is so consumed with darkness... she got the better of me... now I barely get any choice but to do as she says. I tried to fight, and I still do. But she always wins. She wants to submit this planet to her own ways, and then find a way back to Lithereal to enslave all of my people."

At last, Avoria looked up, with tears in her eyes. "I've seen the future, Doctor. I've seen what she plans to do. I want to help, but... I'm just not strong enough."

The Doctor unfolded his arms and made his way over to the woman who, for a second, cowered from his touch. Then she let him take her hands and lead her to a sofa, conveniently placed on the outskirts of the room. She sat and wiped a tear from her eye. The Doctor smiled at her.

"It's all right," he soothed softly, gazing at her. "I'm here to help. And you're here now, so that's a start."

She gave a small, weak laugh. "You always were enough to keep her at bay," she smiled, looking at him through a film of tears. He squeezed her hand comfortingly.

"So were you," he added kindly. "It's this world that has weakened you. Sick, stupid apes like Moreaux. The ones who give Ebony the strength she wants. Maybe it's lucky I got here when I did."

For a moment, Avoria's eyes widened. "You mean... You didn't come here because you heard me calling for you?"

The Doctor's words caught in his throat. He stared at her for a minute, feeling slightly awkward. He had come here to show Rose what she'd meant to him. That he cared enough to give her something resembling, perhaps, a holiday. He hadn't heard anything of a distress signal, which was strange, because the TARDIS was usually accurate at picking them up.

Before he could give an answer, Avoria smiled knowingly and shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said wisely. "You are here now, and we must help each other. The woman you brought with you – Rose – she is in incredible danger."

"Well, I'm free now. Thanks to you. I can just pick her up and save the planet, take you home and then I'll be on my way. Usual day." He grinned, but was not met with the same reaction.

Avoria shook her head, her hands tightening on the Doctor's. "I'm afraid it's not quite as simple as that. You see, there's a problem with you being here and now. This planet is Rose's home. She's a part of its history and its future. You can't just run away from that."

The Doctor frowned. As much as he liked Avoria, sometimes she was a little too cryptic; even for him.

"I don't understand," he shrugged, getting up from the sofa and leaving Avoria where she was sat. He turned back to her after a second or two, his eyes inquiring. "It's worked before."

"Before?" Avoria asked slowly, rising up to her full height and looking at him sternly, "Before, you were not in the world of one of her past lives."

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Moreaux was pacing his chambers impatiently. The guards around the large room stood stiff and still, staring into blankness with their faces sombre. Moreaux could barely tell them apart any more. Not that he wanted to.

The room was a throne room, one of the finest in the mansion. It was paved with suits of armour and a rich, red carpet that ran the length of the floor. Tapestries hung down the walls, telling old stories of history and battles both won and lost. Down one end of the room there ran a long table, covered the most exotic foods and drink one could imagine. Candles hung in gothic candleholders on the walls and the gothic-arched diamond-leaded windows set deeply into the right wall looked out upon expansive and beautiful gardens. Moreaux had always liked the medieval touch.

He stopped pacing and looked up to the door. _Finally_, he thought as he watched two women approach him. One was his follower, a young woman who always enjoyed being part of his plans; he would reward her later. The other was none other than, he guessed, Rose Tyler. He had told his followers to look for the woman in the white dress by the description of Rosaline, knowing full well that this was the supposed 'Rose'. If the Doctor had been telling the truth. And, of course, his followers didn't know any different. It was better this way.

It had been a shock to come back to the cave and find it empty but given the Doctor's track record, not all together surprising. More of a nuisance, perhaps. Still, in his flee he had quite clearly made the choice between his precious TARDIS or the girl. He had fled the planet, it seemed, as the ship was now nowhere to be found. Moreaux had been surprised by the decision, if he were truly honest with himself. He expected the Doctor to have more courage than that. Still – at least he could still have some fun with Rose.

Rose, at last, managed to have control over her body again. She wrenched her arm out of the stony grip from the other woman and glared at her. Then she turned to the man in front of her, who had a smile on his thin, cruel mouth.

"My dear," he drawled at her carefully, his eyes sharp. Then he turned to his follower, dismissing her.

"You the one who's behind it all, then?" Rose asked, stepping up boldly to the tall, cloaked man. She had had enough of walking and being bossed around; her muscles ached, she was tired and she was, if she would admit it, just a tiny bit scared. There had still been no sign of the Doctor and, Rose was sure, she was just about to walk into an unbelievable trap.

The man in front of her – Moreaux, she assumed – gave a little nod of the head.

"Yeah, well, I'm not who you think I am," Rose said stiffly, but with purpose. "I'm not this 'Lady Rosaline', but I'd sure like to meet her. Now, you seem like an intelligent man. My friend – the Doctor – he's gonna be none too happy when he comes back to find out that you've hurt me, so I wouldn't if I were you. If you know what's best for you. What's going on?"

Rose flashed Moreaux a look that was meant to tell him that she knew _exactly_ what was going on, and that he would just be repeating what she already knew if he said anything. She had seen the Doctor pull it off enough times. However, her courage was slightly diminished when Moreaux's face cracked into a terrifying grin as a spine-chilling laugh left his mouth. For a moment, she was quite unnerved.

"You really are quite a charming girl," he laughed, shaking his head. "I can see what he sees in you."

"Who?" Rose asked instantly. _Please please please, don't say_...

"The Doctor. Of course."

_That_.

"So, the Doctor's already had a word with you then," Rose countered, with a smugness she didn't feel. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well, where is he, then?"

"You poor thing," Moreaux sneered, looking at her contemptuously. "My dear, he left. A long while ago."

Rose kept her face from dropping; of course he'd left. She had seen the TARDIS wasn't there. No doubt gone to test out a wonderful new source to save her. He'd be back.

"He'll be back," she replied daringly, leaning forward.

"Perhaps," Moreaux contemplated. Then his face darkened. "But not for you. I gave him a choice, _Rose Tyler_: you or his TARDIS. And, as you can see, you are here whilst his TARDIS..."

He left the sentence hanging in the air cruelly. They were both thinking the word he had left off: isn't. Rose realised that he hadn't addressed her as Rosaline, and obviously knew that there were two of them. And to whom he was talking.

"He wouldn't just leave," Rose said defensively; but her voice was wavering. "He's got a plan. He'll come back for me."

A malicious smile danced in Moreaux's green eyes as he leant dangerously close to the young woman.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I am," she replied definitely. Rose shifted her gaze to look Moreaux straight in the eye, and when she spoke, her voice was dangerous. "And until then, you can tell me exactly what's going on."

"Oh, I don't think so." His eye line moved to above her shoulder, where he nodded. "Take her down to the dungeons. We shall see if the Doctor comes back to claim his precious Rose. In the meantime, schedule us in some talk time; and get the torture chamber ready." His eyes flicked back to Rose. "I'd rather like to know what's in that head of yours."

Before she could protest, Rose felt strong grips on her arms from behind. Two of the guards from the perimeter of the room had come to her, and were dragging her back through the doors and down marble steps into the depths of the mansion.

"Enough with the arms!" she shouted, but they paid no attention. As the rooms began to pan out into cold, dank corridors, a new fear swept over Rose that she hadn't had in a very long time. Not since Jimmy Jones from Powell Estate had forced her into that cold alleyway and – No. She just couldn't bear to think about it.

"Come on, Doctor," Rose mumbled, with pleading as she stumbled through the corridors she was being forced through. "I won't wait forever," she added softly, repeating the words that he had spoken to her last night. Was it only last night?

The grip on Rose's arm tightened as she was swung around, and pushed violently into a small room. Hoisted upon the wall was something that looked like a table, but tilted diagonally towards the floor. Two sets of straps were attached to it, one at the top, one at the bottom. The table was split into three parts, the two end parts attached with leather supports to a pulley on the ceiling. On the wall near the table, there was a large steering wheel, like the wheel of a boat. It looks ominous in its still state.

Rose glanced from the two burly guards who held her, to the table, to the wheel, and back to the guards. Specifically, their muscles. The colour drained from her face with realisation and her eyes went wide.

She looked terrified at the table – now fully aware of its use as a torture device – and had to stop herself from giving a small whimper.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said quietly, and her voice was filled with a fear she barely recognised as her own. The guards began pushing her towards the table and lifting her towards the straps. She struggled and screamed against them, but it did no use. They were too strong. Eventually, after at least once when they had squeezed her wrists, arms, ankles and legs with the force of what felt like twenty elephants, Rose was finally tightened to the table.

"You don't have to do this, yeah?" she tried to reason to one of the guards securing the strap on her right wrist. He paused for a moment and looked at her; right at her, and Rose could see that in his eyes he harboured more sorrow than she could ever relate to. As if he had seen this happen a hundred times before and would be a slave to watch it a hundred times more.

Her eyes softened with tears, and she rested her head slightly, exhausted with fighting. "You don't have to do what that bastard tells you to. You can be free. You got a wife? I'm sure she's lovely. She probably misses you. You can go back to her. You can be free."

The guard on the other side of her tightened the restraint on her wrist, so that the harsh leather was digging into her skin so much so she was scared it would slice her hand right off. She could feel the blood having to physically work its way through her arteries to reach her hand, and it hurt.

Rose blinked back the tears and turned to the guard who was looking at her, his hands still paused on her strap.

"Please," she begged, in a voice barely more than a whisper. The tears stinging at her eyes began to leak down her cheeks. But she held eye contact with the guard; it was her only hope. "Please. Let me go."

For a second, he looked as though he might. But then, the guard simply grunted, tightened her restraint around her wrist, and followed the other out of the room. Rose slammed her head back against the table in defeat, screwing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep back the tears. But it made no difference. She couldn't keep herself from sobbing, her face contorted with fear and pain.

The Doctor had left her. He wasn't coming back. She was alone, now, and at the mercy of a vindictive monster of a man. She was stupid and insignificant and the Doctor had known that. Which was why he'd left, wasn't it? He knew he could just leave her and replace her, and that it would all be all right for him. He could always escape. But not her. She wasn't good enough for that.

Rose Tyler: saviour of the human race, traveller of the universe and lover of the last Time Lord – perhaps not in the sense that the words portrayed, but a love of him all the same. Rose Tyler: daughter of Jackie and Pete Tyler, a girl of nineteen years old with no A-levels, a safe boyfriend and a dead-end job. Rose Tyler: just another stupid ape.

And all the while, whilst these thoughts spun around her head in a dizzy mass, there was one that broke her heart the most. One that she always came back to, that stuck out like the pain she felt in the pit of her heart.

_He isn't coming back_.


	9. Heart

_**A/N**: Okay, so here we are, another chapter. I'd apologise for the... angst, I guess... except that it seems to be my forte. Needless to say, I was up the best part of the night writing (coughthreeinthemorningcough) though, granted, I was reading too. Anyway, thanks to the lovely, wonderful reviewers who make me feel so fuzzy :D _**rabid-x-llamas**, **TheAngelOfSilence**, **Luna Lovegood5**, **SnarkyCoffee**..._ yeah yeah, you know the drill. Love you guys ;3 I'm also astounded to look at the "alert list" for this story. And touched. Anyway. Onwards!_

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**Chapter IX - Heart**

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"Past life?" the Doctor echoed, crossing his arms.

"That's what I said," Avoria confirmed, glancing to him with slight worry. The Doctor was pacing a little, a frown deep in his forehead, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"So you're telling me her past soul just happens to be wandering around in France as well as the real her?"

"You could think of it as some sort of regeneration if it would make it easier," she replied softly. The Doctor stopped pacing and looked to Avoria with fierceness in his blue eyes.

"I could and it doesn't," he stated a little coldly. "But it's big trouble. If Rose so much as _talks_ to her past self, we could be in another great big time paradox all over again."

"Another?"

"Long story," he added quickly. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, especially being away from your home planet. But can you just tell me if..."

The Doctor trailed off, not being able to find the words to complete his sentence. It was a huge thing to ask, he suspected. But Avoria smiled at him kindly.

"It would be the least I can do. And as much danger as she'll be in, I can tell you she will not end up coming into contact with her past self. It will be a close call at one point, however."

The Doctor's head snapped up as if he were a dog who had just heard his owner call him. "Danger? What danger?"

Avoria hesitated, her breath catching.

"What danger?" the Doctor pressed, taking a step towards her. She backed off with a nervousness he hadn't seen in a long while. The Doctor's face softened, but he didn't take his eyes off her. "I'm not going to hurt you. You know that. It's just... if Moreaux gets his hands on her, I swear I'll – "

"He won't," the woman cut across, her eyebrows raised in such a way to tell him that he should know it. "I can't tell you too much; you of all people should know, Doctor. The danger of revealing the future can have drastic consequences."

He considered her for a moment, then sighed and sat down on the sofa again, his hands clasped in between his knees.

"Yeah, I know," he admitted a little dejectedly. "It's just, I hate the thought of anything happening to her."

Avoria hid a smile. "And yet you still bring her on these voyages?"

The Doctor raised his head and looked to the woman with sincerity. "She chooses to come with me. I couldn't stop her if I tried."

"Or if you wanted to." Avoria raised a knowing eyebrow, before crouching down in front of the Doctor and putting her hands gently on his knees. He watched her until their eyes were level. Her eyes searched his and for a moment, the two seemed stuck like that, their gazes locked.

"You care for her," Avoria said softly at last. The Doctor felt his gaze intensify, despite the fact that he didn't mean it to.

"Yeah, I do."

"And you're worried that you care more about her than you should."

He stood suddenly, and Avoria dropped her hands.

"I'm sorry," she began, keeping her gaze forward as he walked behind her. "I shouldn't have – "

"I need to get back to her," the Doctor said bluntly, as if she hadn't spoken in the first place. Avoria stood and turned, in one, elegant motion. She put her head on one side, ever so slightly. He held her gaze for a moment, before looking away and heading towards the TARDIS door.

"Doctor, Rose is safe," Avoria found herself saying. He paused and turned, his eyes very definite in his answer.

"But she isn't with me."

"Moreaux won't lay a finger on her unless I tell him to," she replied before she could stop herself. The Doctor's eyes flashed.

"You said that before. I'm guessing that Ebony has something to do with this? She's the one who's been giving Moreaux all the information he needs, I bet. Couldn't handle the world by herself so tricked a silly little ape into doing what she wants. Planting the ideas in his head. And that'll be why he knew so much about me. And how he got a hold of that device. Lucky he didn't know how to use it; I could've been killed."

Avoria nodded slowly. "I couldn't stop her," she said sadly. But the Doctor's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Ebony doesn't have the power to See, Avoria. Out of the two of you, only you have that. I'm not stupid; it's why you're still alive, probably. Which means that she used your power to find out about me. To tell Moreaux. To put Rose in danger."

She blinked back at the Doctor with a fresh strain of tears in her eyes.

"I just... wasn't strong enough..."

The Doctor nodded slowly and then, perhaps against his better judgement, stepped over to her. He softened his face and reached for her hand.

"You want to go home, don't you?" he asked softly, searching the contours of her face with his eyes. She met his gaze and then nodded. He gave a small smile with the corner of his mouth.

"I just want to get away from here. Doctor, I know how you care for Rose. But if I go out there again, there's no promise that I'll make it back to your TARDIS. I am weakened out there and Ebony may take extra precautions on making sure I do not surface again if she gets the chance. This is my last chance at freedom."

The Doctor stood for a moment, thinking.

"You're sure Rose will be safe? I could leave you here in the TARDIS while I go and find her – "

"Doctor..." Avoria answered slowly, her eyes pleading. "If you leave me, Ebony may surface again anyway. And then I would be alone, as her, in your TARDIS. You have my word that no harm will come to Rose. Moreaux doesn't do anything I – Ebony – doesn't tell him to."

At last, the Doctor found himself nodding gravely. Despite the current mood he was feeling, his face cracked into a large, disarming grin.

"Well then, who am I to deny a lady her freedom?" he asked cheerily, bounding over to the controls. He wasn't sure which part of him was acting; the part that wanted adventure, the part that wanted to get back before Rose noticed his absence or the part that, a very very long time ago, felt for the woman in front of him what he felt for Rose now. Whichever way it was, he pulled a few levers, ran to the other side of the controls and pulled a few more levers and then fiddled with some switches, before pushing a final button. He looked up to Avoria before he pushed it.

"Better hold on to something," he advised. She smiled at him and grabbed at the railing that ran the perimeter of the TARDIS. He grinned his manic grin at her and slammed his hand down hard on the button. The TARDIS lurched and shook the pair about as it began its journey through the stars. The Doctor kept his eyes concentrated on the controls in front of him, his face knotted into a firm frown. After a few more jumps, to which he expertly avoided falling over, the TARDIS came to a juddering halt. Avoria, who had been clinging desperately to the railing for fear of losing her balance, brought her gaze to meet the Doctor's. Her eyes were shining.

"Are we here?" she asked timidly. The Doctor gave a nod and a smile.

"Lithereal," he confirmed with a grin. "Just as you left it. Probably. Can't guarantee I've got you back to exactly the same time though –"

"It's doesn't matter," Avoria cut across him and ran to the Time Lord, wrapping her arms around his neck. He stood for a moment, quite bewildered and then, very slowly, brought his arms around her protectively. "You brought me home," she whispered into his neck, and the Doctor wasn't sure if he was proud or sad to hear tears in her voice.

He hugged her for a second longer, and then held her away from him at arm's length.

"Go on," he urged, nodding towards the door. "Your family will be waiting, I expect."

They stood, their hands clasped together and admiration on each of their faces. Avoria gave a small smile, a sad one, then, suddenly, leaned in to whisper in the Doctor's ear.

"I'm sorry..."

He brought his head back, looking at her confused. He was about to ask what for when, suddenly, the bright, funny, light, clever, intelligent, beautiful woman in front of him changed. Just like that. Like the snap of a pair of fingers. Suddenly, he was holding the hands of a thin woman, dressed in black, with black, curly hair that fell around below her shoulders in a thick frame. Hollow, black eyes stared at him, as well as skin as white as the purest snow. Her lips were thin and cruel, her cheeks high and sneering. A female Moreaux if ever there was one, the Doctor thought. He dropped her hands as if she'd stung in him.

"_You_!" he spat with venom, his eyes narrowing. "Send her back!"

She laughed, hollowly, as if she had been taught how to laugh rather than actually experiencing it.

"You are a bigger fool than I thought, Doctor, if you thought you were dealing with Avoria. It is so easy to manipulate her, especially as she has become so weak. You were right about one thing. That world _did_ feed me. And now, thanks to you, I have strength enough to take revenge on the people who would never welcome me."

"What do you think you'll find when you get out there?" the Doctor demanded desperately, beginning to make his way to block the woman from leaving the TARDIS. "Open arms? A nice, lovely place to wreak revenge? You won't get away with it, Ebony."

Ebony stopped and looked at the Time Lord for a moment, disgust clear on her face. Then, with one, simple, wave of her arm she cast the Doctor backwards into the metallic wall of his TARDIS. The pain he felt shoot through him was immense, as if the impact were reverberating around inside him. He looked to her, stony faced and angry. It was heart-breakingly surprisingly to realise the difference between the two women who shared the same consciousness; it was also heart breaking to recognise their similarities.

"You are no match to me, Time Lord," Ebony spat at him, her dark eyes narrowing with hatred. "You may have taught that little wretch to subdue me once before, but I am strong now, and every day she gets weaker. She takes another breath before her death, whilst I live on."

The Doctor couldn't stand it. He made to bar Ebony from the door, anything to stop her from leaving the TARDIS. Because he knew that if she went out there, it would mean the end for more than just Avoria's planet. It would be the end of her people, the end of their future, their past. It would be the end of him and his TARDIS. And it would be the end of Rose, too. He had been a fool to trust that she would be safe if he left her alone. And, as much as he would like to blame the enticing, convincing eyes of Avoria that had driven him to it, part of him had just not wanted to accept responsibility for her safety. It was a part of him he hated. So very much.

However, he found that when he went to move, he couldn't. That old not-being-able-to-move-trick again, he supposed. Fantastic.

Ebony spared him a pleased but sadistic smile.

"It's not magic," she explained, for a moment. "Moreaux believes it is. But it's just furthered technology to do with the workings of the brain and the molecular structure of the biomass of thought. Combined with my extensive knowledge, I can create a powerful force over others."

Then, as if suddenly realising who she was speaking to, she rounded on her heel and put a hand lightly on the TARDIS door. For a second, Ebony turned back to the Doctor, who stood there like a stupid little child.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said harshly, with malevolence dancing in her dark eyes. "You have helped me imprison this planet. Kill the one you love. Sacrifice yourself. How does it feel?"

He caught her eye, and pulled a massive grin. "Fantastic."

She gave him an odd, unbelieving look, before shrugging and putting it down to Time Lord ways. Ebony pushed against the TARDIS door gleefully, her plan already forming perfectly in her mind. It didn't budge. Taking a breath, she pushed again, a little harder this time.

"What...?" she asked, astounded. But the Doctor had the answer. And she was surprised to hear footsteps coming towards her. She turned to see him only a few feet away from her, a smug grin on his wide face. "How did you...?"

"This is _my_ TARDIS," he shrugged. "If you think some hocus-pocus 'molecular biomass technology' is going to be controlling me any time soon, you may as well jump out into time and space right now. Not a chance. I've fought scarier things than you in my sleep. You're just a lost little girl who can't accept that she doesn't belong here. And as for the door..."

He brought his hand out of the pocket, holding up a silver key dangling on a chain. "Looking for this?" he asked brightly with a grin. The look on Ebony's face was almost enough to make him laugh. It was a mixture of complete rage and utter humiliation. "TARDIS key," he explained brightly, pocketing it with a grin. "Never leave home without one."

"Give it to me," she demanded, advancing towards him with venom. The Doctor cocked his eyebrow. He leant his head forward, very slowly.

"No."

"What?"

"No," he shrugged, with a laugh. "I told you. No more mind controlling for _you_. This is my game, we play my rules."

"But..."

The Doctor laughed and rolled his eyes, before reaching a hand out to take Ebony's wrist. She fought against his grip, but between a woman with no power and the Lord of Time, there was really no question of who won out in the strength department.

"Tell you what," he said gleefully, pulling her down into the depths of the TARDIS corridors. He knew that somewhere around here he had a room he could just lock her in to. Just for now; keep her out of trouble. "You can stop dictating Avoria's life – and mine, come to that – and sit and think about how you'd like me to kill you. Now, as I've said before, I have a friend to save and, right about now, she'll be needing my help. So be a good little villain and stay in your room."

The TARDIS graciously found him one of the spare rooms and he pushed her into it, Ebony screeching the entire time. He was glad to have some rest for his ears when the door slid shut tightly behind him. He opened a small panel in the door and saw Ebony glower out at him.

"One more thing," he added, jerking his head back towards the TARDIS control room. "To open that door; it's pull, not push."

Flashing her one of his amazing grins, he slammed the panel shut and made his way, albeit a little hurriedly, back to the controls and, more importantly, back to his Rose.

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He wouldn't tell anyone – probably not even Rose herself when he got her out of this mess – that he hadn't really taken the TARDIS anywhere. Well, not to Lithereal, in the least. More like, a nice, deserted planet on the edge of one of the loneliest solar systems in the universe. He would have left Ebony there, too, if it hadn't have been for Avoria. She was another one who needed his help. He had known that Avoria wasn't herself and he had as good as guessed that Ebony was looking for a way back home. He couldn't have challenged her until he'd tricked her into coming out in the open. Close call, he thought, as he fiddled with the coordinates of the controls.

For the moment, all there was was Rose and as the TARDIS groaned into action again as he set the coordinates, the Doctor could not help feeling just a little bit smug. Collect Rose, save the day, home in time for tea. He grinned as he yanked down on a lever, and the TARDIS lurched into oblivion.

Of course, the grin more than subsided when his luck ran out and he pulled another one of his 'right place, wrong time' disasters. He realised, when he flung the doors of the TARDIS open, first of all, that he was _not_ on top of a hill but, in fact, in the middle of a square. A busy square. Next to a water fountain with two naked humans on it. Fantastic. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, too; had he even made the right date, for pity's sake? Was this the Saint-Émilion he had left in supposed peace? Thankfully, the people around for the moment seemed to be marketplace folk, packing up to go home. They'd be gone soon. However, the passers by had stopped what they were doing and were stood, dumb-struck, at the 1960s English police box in the middle of their 1920s French square. Of course none of them _knew_ it was a 1960s English police box, but it was still just as dangerous. The Doctor slammed the door behind him and stood, feeling quite uncomfortable, as all eyes watched him. This certainly didn't bode well for his world-saving-Rose-rescuing-home-in-time-for-tea plan. He frowned.

Approaching the nearest person her could reach, he beamed at them and relaxed his shoulders. "Hello. Could you tell me the date?"

"I..." it was a young woman with wide eyes, clutching at a wheelbarrow of what looked like scarves. He glanced down to them and noticed a bright pink affair, silk he reckoned, and knew in a flash that Rose would like it. An apology, maybe, for being such an idiot. Forgetting the date for the time being, he looked back to the timid, mousy haired woman.

"How much for that scarf?" he asked brightly. The woman's eyes widened as she followed the direction of his finger.

"For you, sir, free," she said hurriedly, bending to pick it up and hand it to him.

"Oh," he replied, a little surprised, taking the fabric from her. The material was soft in between his fingers. Then he grinned again. "That's very nice of you..." he looked at her intently, gesturing with his hand.

"Amélie."

"Right. Amélie, hello. I'm the Doctor. Is today the twelfth? Of June? 1924?"

He almost held his breath in anticipation and was relieved to see the woman nod. He grinned at her. "Fantastic! Maybe I'm not too late to save her after all. She'd kill me if I was!"

Laughing, the Doctor was about to move off, when he felt the young woman pull at his arm. Graciously, he looked down to her with a smile.

"Save who?" she asked inquisitively, but he could also recognise something else in her voice, a great wisdom.

"My friend," he smiled. "My friend Rose. That's who the scarf is for."

Amélie's eyes widened.

"There was a Rose at my stall earlier today, Doctor. She got led away by a severe looking woman."

He became instantly excitable, the grin spreading from his mouth to his eyes.

"Oh?" he asked. "Do you know where they went?"

"I… I have seen that woman many times, Doctor. She leads people away. There is a house, a mansion, on the edge of town. That way." She pointed. "I believe that is where she took your Rose."

He gave her a pleased nod of the head and took Amélie's hand, squeezing it.

"You may have just saved her life," he said kindly. "And mine, if you don't tell her I got a little… lost. I don't fancy being on the end of one of Rose's arguments. Again. Worse than her mother, she is!"

Amélie nodded a little sheepishly; she had no idea what he was talking about. The Doctor gave her a manic grin.

"Cheerio then," he said gleefully, starting at a jog away from the square. "And thanks for the scarf!" he called back, laughing.

He shook his head as he jogged; again, that word had leaked out of his mouth before his brain could tell him otherwise. It was becoming quite the habit, despite the fact that it made him sound like he was born in the 1950s. Which, he knew, he quite clearly wasn't. Perhaps it was this era. He clutched at the scarf desperately as he ran. Thank Gallifrey the woman was clever and knew of his Rose. Now he could save her, apologise for being a complete and utter pratt, and then they'd be on their way. It was a good feeling and, as he ran to the mansion, his spirits were lifting with every step. Such was the joy of being a hero.

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Rose's scream echoed around the dreary room. Moreaux was stood in the chamber with his arms folded and his eyes narrowed. Standing by the wheel on the wall was a guard who, whenever Moreaux would snap his fingers, turned it that little bit more.

It had been all right at first. Sure, it had hurt a little, having the strain on her muscles as she was forced into unnatural stretching, but it wasn't too bad. But then she had reached her limit and now, with the guard turning the wheel a little bit more, Rose could practically feel her entire body being wrench apart from the inside out. Her ligaments were being torn away from each other, her muscles tearing, her bones breaking. The pain was so much... too much... and it was everywhere. There wasn't an inch of her that didn't cry out for the release of death. She was beyond tears. After the final scream, she was beyond screaming too. It was just too much; even breathing hurt. Taking those short, tiny breaths to keep the oxygen flowing to her brain was enough to make her want to give up. The pain tore through her like a thousand million needles trying to force their way out of her from the inside.

_He left me_.

The thought itself almost hurt more than her torture.

_He left me_.

Rose barely heard Moreaux's voice drift through the air, working its way through her suffocating pain. She was drowning in it, trying so hard to keep herself alive. But why? What was the point?

"What do you know of the Doctor's plans?"

That question, again. How many times had he asked it?

"He – has – no – plans," she panted bitterly and breathlessly, her body feeling like it would snap at any moment. The cold realisation hit her that it was true: he really _didn't_ have any plans. Ever. He just ran in with a makeshift idea that he was making up as he went along, and that was it. He had no plans. Not to save her.

_He left me_.

"Liar!" Moreaux screeched. He clicked his fingers. The pain intensified, even though Rose couldn't see how it was possible. Much more of this and she would literally be torn in two. She could barely feel the sickness her stomach or the dizziness in her head. Breathing hurt too much... she had to hold her breath.

"Why did he come here? What did he want with Ebony?"

_He left me_.

"I – don't – know," Rose wailed, letting her breath out. It all hurt. So much pain. So much hurting, and she couldn't even end it. She wanted it to, desperately. She would have given anything to die, right now, just like that. And death was not something Rose Tyler often wished for. But her body and heart was broken and now she had nothing. No one. She was alone.

Moreaux narrowed his eyes. She was a tough nut to crack; he'd give her that. He couldn't just keep up this charade and kill her – he needed answers. Ebony had not spoken to him in a very long while, and he had become worried that her absence was something to do with the Doctor. He must have tricked her. And then the blood in him boiled. Well, if the Doctor could take his mentor, then _he_ could take his Rose. It would be just another corpse to add to the pile after all, and he would find his answers from somewhere. Play on, he mused with amusement, his grin spreading.

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The Doctor didn't have to hear Rose's scream to know that she was in danger. His hearts plummeted and raced at the same time, his stomach turning somersaults somewhere in his throat. He ran up the gravel path to the door, his feet crunching on the stones; he could almost feel them crush together under his weight. He brought out the sonic screwdriver and held it to the lock on the door, and it buzzed with protest as it worked.

"Come on!" he urged angrily, giving the door a kick of frustration. It swung open. Blinking with shock for just a moment, he shrugged and hurtled into the house.

Instantly, he was greeted by two pairs of strong, relentless hands. The guards. They grabbed at his shoulders, his arms, anything to stop him from getting through. But enough was enough, the Doctor decided. When Rose was in danger, that was it. Nothing and no one would get in the way. He rounded on them with a new found strength that had risen up from deep within him. He felt it surge to every muscle in his body, and the beating of his hearts rose with his rage. His eyes glinted a steely grey as he rounded on the two guards in front of him.

"I am the last Time Lord, and I release you from your imprisonment!" he shouted at the top of his voice, his eyes flashing. He wasn't sure if it would work; he didn't care. The guards, for a moment, blinked back at him stupidly and their grip loosened. It was all he needed. With sheer desperation, he broke out of their grip and headed for the stairs that led down to, he presumed, the dungeons. Rose's scream still echoed in his mind and the guilt washed through him like a tsunami, breaking everything in its wake. And on he ran, his feet pounding at the floor, the blood pounding in his ears. Save her, save her, save her. That was all. Of course she hadn't've been safe. Not with Moreaux around. And he'd been a stupid, idiotic daft little man to believe that she was. But the time for regret would be later, he scolded, as his shoes pounded down the stairs.

He pushed open a door and knew instantly that this was the dungeon. The smell that rushed up to greet him was rank and stale, making him feel sick to the stomach. It had been a long time since he had smelled death like this. The corridor was freezing as he ran, his feet nearly giving way under his desperate urge to find her. He came to a door. An open door. The Doctor skidded to a halt, his face contorted with horror, shame, grief and guilt. Rose, on a torture mechanism. Moreaux, gleaming over her empty shell of a body. The rage in him came to a climax as his hearts broke at what he'd done. And, without a first, second or third thought, he burst into the room.

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There had been so many things wrong with his plan. One, he had been cocky, and arrogant, and confident, and had therefore locked Ebony into a room without much care. As soon as the TARDIS landed back in France, the door had slid open with the jolt. And she had wandered out, a definite pace in her step. Carefully, she had watched as the Doctor had dashed off towards the mansion. And carefully, picking her steps cautiously and laughing at his stupidity, she followed him with a swift, but subtle, walk.

Two, he had been stupid enough to pause and buy a scarf. A _scarf_, for pity's sake, when Rose's life was in danger. He had tucked the delicate fabric into his pocket carefully, expecting it to be a surprise when he got to her. Of course, right now, he would happily trade the scarf for her life.

Three, he wasn't thinking. At all. No plan, just pure emotion rushing through him. Although, as things went, this was probably more of a help than a hindrance.

He slammed into the room, his breath in broken pants. He had eyes only for the woman on the torture device, his eyes filling with sorrowful tears at his own stupid mistake.

Moreaux looked at him for a moment, quite startled, the rest of his question to the girl still hanging in the air. He smiled.

"Doctor, how nice of you to j– "

Smack. He didn't even get the rest of his welcoming, drawling sentence out as the Doctor's balled fist came up to meet his jaw line. Moreaux stumbled with the shock and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Enough games," the Doctor spat and made for the wheel on the wall; Rose's release. He looked up into the sombre face of the guard, his features twisted into a look of hate. "If you've any compassion left in that pathetic little body of yours, you'll let me save her!" he yelled, his eyes blazing.

Something in the guard stirred. An old part of his soul, the part that Rose had nearly touched when she had spoken with him and begged him to let her go. It expanded and spread and he was allowed just a few moments of freedom. He took his hands away from the wheel, which spun back on itself with the release. The supports of the desk loosened and the Doctor gave the man a silent thank you. There was something in humanity left, at least. But there was no time for thank yous now. The Doctor ran to the table and the still figure. Her eyes were closed and her head lolled at an unnatural angle. Desperately, he unstrapped the leather at her ankles and wrists. Damn – how tight had those bastards pulled the restraints?

With nothing left supporting her, Rose's body sank into the arms of the Doctor. He lowered her to the floor desperately, tears stinging at his blue eyes. He couldn't stop his hand from reaching to cup her face.

"Rose," he said desperately, searching her face for any signs of life. A flicker of an eyelid. A catch of breath. Anything. "Rose!"

He held her broken body to him, bringing her head up to his shoulder. He rocked her in his arms gently, one hand at her head, the other spread on her back.

"I'm sorry," he cried into her mass of blonde hair. He could practically feel the warmth leaving her body with every passing moment; moments that he could not stop. "Rose, I'm so sorry. This never... I..."

The tears spilled out down his cheeks, searing his flesh with raw despair. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to force them back. She wasn't gone. She couldn't be gone. She was his Rose, his lively, confident, funny, intelligent Rose. He couldn't let her die, not now. Not in his arms. Not after everything that had happened. It just wasn't possible.

He pulled back slightly, passing his hand desperately over her face, brushing the hair from her eyes. Her body was completely limp in his arms.

And then, a miracle happened. Her eyes flickered. He saw it. They blinked, though they were closed. His hearts leapt.

"Rose!" he shouted, overjoyed at that single, tiny motion. "Rose, stay with me. Don't let go. It's not your time yet. I have so much to show you... don't give up. Not now. Not ever."

He was still crying. He had never cried before; not like this. His voice was weak and broken, his panting breaking his speech. But he kept her to him, desperately. He brought his head forward and kissed her forehead desperately, straining to hold on to whatever warmth was left in her body. She felt her muscles tense beneath his hold. Her own life.

He brought his head back again, his thumb running over her cheek desperately. "Rose?" he whispered. He barely dared to hope. He didn't deserve it, he knew. But she did. She deserved to live, always.

Her eyes didn't open. But a small breath choked out of her weak body. Slowly, she parted her lips and uttered one word. A hushed word, that he had to strain his ears to hear.

"Doctor..."

A miserable grin spread across his face.

"I'm here," he said, laughing with grief. The tears he was crying were spilling onto her flesh. He cradled her against his chest again, not wanting to let her go. "I'm always here. I'll never ever leave you. Not ever."

But she didn't hear his promise. The fingertips she was using to hold on to the cliff of life suddenly gave way. Just like that. She couldn't hold on any more. The pain was still with her. Her bones were broken, weakened. And, in the last Time Lord's arms, Rose Tyler slipped out of existence. It had not been the torture device that had killed her. Physically, it had torn her body so far away from itself that it was almost impossible to repair. Almost. But not entirely. The Doctor could and would have found a way to heal her, to bring her back. But he couldn't. Because she'd gone. What had killed her was the will to let go. Not to hang on. To give up.

_He left me_.

Rose Tyler, the girl who had been to the end of the world and back, had died of a broken heart.


	10. Just This Once

_**A/N**: I can't believe some of you thought I would just leave that last chapter there. That would just be too mean xD When it's my last chapter, I always say so, so don't worry. And no, this chapter isn't the last one either... though it wouldn't be a lie to say that we were coming up to the end of the story. Special thanks to _**Willow Tree Pixie**_, for following, and _**BamNutCocoBoo**_ for your review. I really liked it! Anyway, more chapters, yay!_

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**Chapter X – Just This Once**

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He wasn't sure when, or how, or why. One moment, she had been alive in his arms, the beating of her heart a slow and uneven comfort, and the next, there had been nothing. She had been weak against him yes, too weak to speak or breathe, maybe. But she'd been alive. He had found her and he could have taken her back to the TARDIS and it would have been all right. Why would she give up now, when she had held on so many times before?

Questions whizzed around his head, fighting and clawing at each other like a pack of wild animals. His emotions soared and rocketed together before colliding and plummeting in fits of final despair. How could she just give up like that? He still held her to him, her empty shell, her body. But this wasn't Rose. This wasn't the woman he had taken with him, rescued from London, from her mundane life. This wasn't the woman who had shared in his desires and his fears – well, some of them, at least. This wasn't the woman who shared his passion, who took his hand when it was offered, who offered her own hand to his, who could make him feel so ecstatically happily, so tremendously scared and so devastingly miserable all at once. This wasn't his Rose. This was someone else entirely. And he could not let go.

He was barely aware of the movement out of the corner of his eye. Moreaux was recovering consciousness. Logical thought left the Doctor. He was left with the terrible indecision, the desire to do many things at once. He wanted to stay here with Rose to his chest, always, never letting go. He wanted to fly to Moreaux's side, taking his neck within his hands and squeeze until the river of life stopped flowing. He wanted to shout and scream and cry and run. He wanted to run, so very much, and leave it all behind. He wanted to blame anyone, everyone, the world, the universe – anyone who would listen. He wanted to hurt himself, to take a knife to his skin and see the blood pour and ask himself if it was worth it. Was it worth playing his arrogant card one too many times? Was the universe worth her life? Was anything?

No. He had lost her. She was gone from him, stolen before her time. He had failed as her guardian, as her protector, as her friend and as her lover. He had loved her more than his hearts could endure, until she had spilled over from him and become a part of him; a part of his life; a part of his home; a part of the TARDIS; a part of his actions; a part of his thoughts; a part of his feelings; a part of his everything. All of it. She was everything. And now she wasn't. Gone. Torn. Defeated. Were these the words he would use to describe Rose Tyler?

He dropped her body gently to the floor, not wanting to release her from his grip but at the same time accepting the fact that he didn't deserve her. He was the one who had brought her so much pain, and he didn't deserve to mourn her. It was his own fault.

The Doctor stood, shakily to his feet. He stared at the woman on the floor. She looked so peaceful. But death was never peaceful. And she had died waiting for him. He could almost hear his hearts tear under the realisation. He couldn't think. His mind was a thick fog of actions, nothing more. He was crouching, scooping the woman into his arms. How could he have left her? She was his. All his. He straightened up again, clutching her cold body to his own. Why was she cold when he had warmth? Why was she still when he had movement? Why was she dead when he had life?

Too many questions. Too many emotions. He couldn't think. He could only feel. He couldn't even bear to gaze at the woman in his arms. He began to walk, very slowly, away from all of this. He couldn't just leave her here. He had to take her some place calm and quiet, where he could talk to her. Perhaps at the sound of his voice, she might wake up. She might look at him with her adoring eyes and forgive him. But she would never forgive him; he couldn't forgive himself. His eyes stared forward, empty and void. There was nothing behind the cold harsh colour of his eyes. His face, though stung from the raw tears, was completely still. No emotion. Nothing. Just a steely glint out at a world that wasn't fair.

And he was walking, apparently. His feet taking step after step, with the woman in his arms. He didn't know where. He didn't know why. Maybe he would just keep walking forever, not stopping. Lost in his own little world. Without her. Forever. Well, his decision had been rendered useless. _I could save the world but lose you_. The words haunted him as he walked, stepping slowly through the corridors of the dungeon. Why did it seem so quiet? Those were the words he had spoken to her, all those weeks ago. And she had let him. Made him choose the world. It was just as well, because he wasn't sure if he would have chosen it otherwise. And now look at him. He'd lost Rose. He'd lost the world. Rose _was_ his world. And he'd lost both.

But unless he was very careful, he would lose this world too. Her planet. Her future. He almost gasped... her future. The Rose he hadn't met yet, the Rose of her future – the Rose of his past, now – she wasn't born. He had to save the world. For her past life. For her future life. He had to save it; otherwise the Rose Tyler he knew and loved may not even exist in the first place. So, it always came down to this, did it? Keep fighting, even for a lost cause.

The Doctor shrugged internally; someone had to do it.

He pushed forward, through the door, and began up the stairs to the main foyer of the landing. Bloody strange layout, this. Not that he cared. Moreaux was free to do as he liked for the time being, because pretty soon, he would be at the Doctor's mercy for destroying Rose's future. Eventually. Everything has its time; everything dies.

It came as a shock to see Ebony standing at the top of the stairs. But she was beyond him, now. He had eyes only to save whatever of Rose he could. His face didn't twitch in emotion and he barely acknowledged her. It was only when she stood in front of him at the top of the stair did he speak.

"Get out of the way."

His voice was even and calm, as if he felt no emotion at all. An order: nothing more.

She smiled with glee at the woman in his arms.

"Too late, were you? I'm sorry Doctor, but I can't let you go just yet. You're far too valuable to me."

"Get out," he said, his head turning to her, "of the way."

"Taken to repeating yourself?" she asked maliciously. "What's the matter? Haven't got a witty comeback for me? Pity, I was getting quite used to them. Tell me, do you really think you can get out of this alive?"

The Doctor's eyes were sombre, unreal. When he spoke, it was still with no emotion. Simple and plain. "I am beyond life and death. You can't comprehend what I have seen. So I call for Avoria."

"What?" Ebony frowned, with a slight laugh. She crossed her arms. "Doctor, you are mistaken if – "

"I call for Avoria," he repeated gently, though there was strength in his lost voice. His grip on the woman in his arms tightened.

"Doctor, I – "

"I call for Avoria," the Doctor persisted, never once taking his eyes from the woman in front of him. She widened her eyes with shock and was about to protest when, at last, she changed again. White clothes, auburn hair, a dancing sadness in her eyes. Avoria. She bowed her head to the woman in the Doctor's arms and stood aside to let him pass. He did so, but stopped and turned when he was in the foyer.

"I'm sorry," Avoria almost cried, bringing a hand to her mouth. "I couldn't stop her. I tried to warn you that it was Ebony inside of me, but I couldn't, I just – "

"Look into Rose's future," the Doctor said abruptly, his eyes flashing. Avoria stopped talking. "Tell me. Is there life?"

She didn't need telling twice. With the strength she had been building over the years, perhaps for such an occasion as this, Avoria closed her eyes and used her gift of the Sight to look into the future of a woman the Doctor loved, a woman she had once been. She frowned and let out a gasp with realisation. The Doctor's face steeled.

"There's a way to save her, Doctor," Avoria muttered through closed eyes. She looked tensed, as though she could actually see Rose's life straight in front of her. "She can live. You can save them all." Her eyes flickered open and, despite the circumstances, she gave a slight smile. "But you knew that anyway, didn't you?"

"How?" he asked simply, not moving.

"You know how. Leave the girl; you cannot save that form of her now. Go back to the beginning, before any of this began. Change the future. Save her fate. This wasn't how it was supposed to be."

The Doctor showed a moment of reluctance. It was what he had wanted to hear. Of sorts.

"Quickly," Avoria continued, her voice hurried. "I cannot hold Ebony off for much longer. Get to the TARDIS. Go back and change it. Perhaps this world will be better for us all."

With a nod of the head, he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He didn't know how, but he let her go. He let her slide out of his arms onto the carpeted floor beneath him, her body sprawling out at his feet. Then he straightened, his mind fixed firmly on the woman he was going to save. His eyes met Avoria's a last time. And then, perhaps it was the way she was looking at him, perhaps it was the fact that he could save them, perhaps it was just Rose's influence...but he was grinning. A real grin, that spread to his eyes and further.

"Wish me luck," he said almost brightly, feeling a weight lift from his heart. "And thanks for everything. If I make it, I promise... I'll save it all."

Avoria nodded. "Go now, Doctor. But run; I can feel Ebony's plan. The device she has given to Moreaux. She will use it to bring about your death, to conjure your worst fear until it consumes you. Run fast, my Doctor, for more than just your life depends on it."

He didn't need telling twice. He was on his heel and out the door in less time than it took to blink, dashing off down the gravel path. Avoria let out a frightened sigh. She had seen how the future could be saved – but also how it could end. How everything could burn. And every step the Doctor took away from her, she felt Ebony's presence increase.

She knew of the woman and her evening washing up, and the wine bottle, and the drunk, and the shard of glass, and the Doctor's death. She had seen it. But she was a Seer, and a good one at that, and she had enough strength in her to manipulate it. Just about. The action, she was sure, would destroy her. Leave only a body for Ebony, and only Ebony. The darkness. Avoria was frightened of letting go. But she knew she had to.

So, as the Doctor ran, he was unaware of the sacrifice Avoria was making with the last strength of her life. She closed her eyes and cast her power back to the sneeze which would start the chain reaction.

The woman washing up knew no difference. She felt a sneeze coming on and, rather than just accept it, took a step back from the sink as it caught her. Straightening up, she noticed the wine bottle on the windowsill and quickly moved to put it in her sink of water. This tiny action changed the consequence of the world.

Avoria's life was lost to a scream inside her head, as Ebony became her one final time. She was enraged and had death in her eyes. She screamed for Moreaux, who had long awoken, and was at her side in an instant. She snatched the Time Lord's killing device into her hands and used her knowledge to work at it. A large cloud of relentless, undiluted fear sprang out and hovered in front of her, a shapeless being set for one thing.

"Kill the Doctor," Ebony cackled with delight, and watched as it sped out of the door in an eerily smooth motion. It followed its prey, and its prey ran.

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_Don't stop_.

The words echoed around his head as he ran. Darkness was beginning to seep through the town as the sun sank lazily below the horizon line, bruising the sky with its decent.

_Don't stop_.

It seemed he had spent of the past twenty-four hours running. Except, this time he was running to save the world. His world. It was a long shot, he knew, but it was the only shot he had. The hairs on the back of the Doctor's neck were tingling. Whatever was chasing him was gaining on him; but he kept going. He had no choice.

_Don't stop_.

Rose. He was running for Rose. If he saved the planet in the meantime, well, that was just a bonus. Get back to the TARDIS, back maybe twelve hours and warn himself... somehow. Could he risk another time paradox? But, then again, he wasn't changing history. Not really. It wasn't supposed to be this way, Avoria had said. And he could risk it anyway; nothing was worth Rose's life. Except perhaps, _perhaps,_ Gallifrey; and that was a ridiculous comparison anyway, because Gallifrey was gone. Rose was too, in a way, but at least her he could save. If he was lucky.

The blood raced through him as if it were the one to be running rather than he. He didn't dare look back, for fear that the creature – whatever it was – would find and kill him. And then there really would be no hope. It would be the end. Game over. His muscles were aching, begging him to stop. It had been a while since he had been pushed to his limits and, if circumstances were different, he might be quite enjoying the experience. But then, if the circumstances were different, then he wouldn't be in the situation anyway.

_Don't stop_.

This was beginning to look familiar, wasn't it? These alleys? He had long left the grounds of the mansion and was now weaving his way through the narrow back alleys, in between the houses. Perhaps he could lose whatever was chasing him in the thick of the maze. Ever on the Doctor kept pushing himself. He rounded a corner a little sharper than he meant to and, for an instant, his hearts plummeted as he swore he felt his leg catch on something. But no, his leg was fine, and the feeling ebbed as soon as it had arrived. He sprinted on through the alley, into the open square, and was flooded with sheer relief to see the TARDIS standing patiently there for him.

Oh, Heaven and Earth combined, he was saved! Rose was saved! The world, saved! The Doctor felt tears sting at his eyes as he ploughed forward the last few metres to his precious sanctuary, digging desperately in his pocket for the TARDIS key and half-thanking, half-cursing the TARDIS' self locking mechanism. He arrived at the door, slipping the thin sheet of metal into the lock and flinging himself desperately against the door, all in one movement. He didn't care about the pain that shot through his shoulder. Gasping for breath, the Time Lord slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. Instantly, there was a large crash, as if something very big and fierce were trying to get in from the outside. But the TARDIS was strong; she would hold.

Tears streamed down the Doctor's face as he leant against the door, panting. Tears of happiness, tears of sadness, tears of pure emotion as he suddenly felt overwhelmed. His chest felt as though someone had just drawn a knife across it, whilst his muscles complained about the sheer distance he had just run. But he didn't care; he'd made it.

The peace didn't last for long, however, as the TARDIS was shaken with another devastating thud. The Doctor knew he had to leave so, for the time being, he forced the wave of emotion down into the depths of his hearts. For right now, he had a world to save and with it, himself.

He dashed over to the controls and fiddled with dials and knobs whilst glancing at the display screen. His timing had been off once today already; he hoped he would be lucky this time and get it right. Too much depended on it.

Another ear-splitting crack made its way around the TARDIS. The Doctor winced, almost as if he could feel it. Biting down on his lip with apprehensive worry, he began pulling levers and pressing buttons to kick the TARDIS into action. _Come on_, he urged silently as it groaned with the effect of such exact settings. _Just this once_, he pleaded to the universe, to the TARDIS, to God, to himself – anyone who could give him the answer. Just this once, please, let it work. Everything dies, yes: but please, not now. Just this once.

The TARDIS lurched and shuddered as it sped through time. At last, it landed with a thud, causing the Doctor to almost lose his balance. And then there was silence. The Doctor held his breath while he stepped over to the doors. He paused before he opened them, suddenly drenched with dread. What if he'd got it wrong? This was his only chance; what if he'd cocked it up, just like everything else? What if he was too late? Too early? Not even in the right place, let alone the right time? Oh, sod it, what if, what if, what if... he'd have to face whatever was out there sooner or later, right _or_ wrong. He exhaled the breath and opened the doors.

The square. He was in the square. Again. Why did he have to materialise in broad daylight and in open space? Except, hang on. The square was empty. The Doctor looked around for any signs of civilisation, but there was no one about. His intuition told him that it was about six o'clock in the morning. He just hoped he had the right date. Two of him in the same time, almost the same place. Stupidly dangerous, he knew, but worth the risk for Rose. She was alive now, at least, and he would make sure to do everything in his power to keep her that way. Risks be damned; he should never have left her.

He started off at a quick jog towards the hotel. Right about now, he remembered, he would be seeing the trap being set for him. He would be making his decision about Rose. The Doctor pressed onwards, his feet echoing on the cobbled path. He dodged into a familiar street, beginning to see some of the earlier risers of the town wake. He didn't even stop to wish them good morning. For some reason, he felt that his timing on this was far too important to gamble with.

On and on he ran, past houses and shops and bleary-eyed people in the street. He was panting by the time he pulled up to the hotel, the warmth of the sun already beginning to beat down upon him. Taking in deep, longing breaths, the Doctor put a hand to the glass door and pushed open, practically tumbling inside on to the lush, red carpet. The receptionist at the desk raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Sir?" he asked carefully. The Doctor grinned at him.

"Not to worry Luc, I'm just going up to my room. Had a bit of a late night."

Luc's face curled into a slight frown, but he let it go as the man dashed past him and up the stairs. He never understood foreigners, and now was not the time to try.

The Doctor paused as he reached the top of the spiralled staircase. He didn't even have a plan. What was he supposed to say to his other self? If he came across himself, would he believe him? The question was a little too confusing, even for the Doctor's liking. He paused and reached a hand to his pocket, pulling out the pink, silken scarf he had bought for Rose. He gazed at it longingly, wishing he could give it to her.

Then an idea hit him right between the eyes. The scarf... he knew he couldn't speak to himself directly. That would just be too stupid for words and would create more troubles than he could handle. But maybe if he could somehow get a message woven into the scarf, so that when his other self tapped in to the power he could... 'see'... what he had seen. Then he would know. He would know what had happened, about Avoria, about Ebony, about Moreaux; he would know it all, and he would be able to stop it.

The Doctor grinned. It was a risky idea, especially as it would be an easier thing to achieve with the help of the TARDIS. But he had his sonic screwdriver; if he could set it to the right settings of his molecular brain structure, he could impose what he had seen with the atomic structure of the scarf, then code it to release when he – the other he – touched it. A long shot at best, but a shot nonetheless.

Taking in a breath of air, the Doctor closed his eyes and prepared to transfer his memories into the fabric. If he managed to change the course of his and Rose's future, then he would disappear. Become nothing. Just how it should be. Forgetting that rather startling thought for the moment, the Doctor relaxed and let the memories pour.


	11. Where to Now?

_**A/N**: First of all, my sincerest apologies for the lateness of this chapter. To cut a short story even shorter, this is the last chapter, so I wanted to make sure it covered everything that was needed. It isn't perfect and could probably do with more work, but I won't get a shot at the computer for the next two weeks (exams, you know - bleargh), by which time it will be far too late. So, I've done my best and there we go. Wonderful thanks to all the people who have been following this so far, and all the reviewers, and generally people who make this site so enjoyable. I'm working on something else right now, but it probably won't make an __appearance__ for a long while. Thanks for being so supportive everyone!_

_I--Angels--I_

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**Chapter XI – Where to Now?

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The Doctor was pacing the living room with a hurried frenzy. Rose was asleep next door and he had only a few short minutes, if that, to make his decision. She hadn't been asleep for very long. The Doctor glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece: six hours and fourteen minutes. She had only been asleep for about four hours. What was he to do? He knew that what he had just seen, the cats and the raven, would be a clue to whatever was going on. The letters; the strange sights of stray cats; that apprehensive, worried feeling he always got in the pit of his stomach when something other worldly was going on. If he left, he would only be gone for a minute. And Rose was a good girl, she could fend for herself. He cast a last look at her bedroom door longingly. Why was he in such indecision about this?

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Strange that the staff would be calling on him this early: even apes weren't stupid enough to serve breakfast at this hour. He crossed the room and pulled the door open assertively. It was quite surprising to find a piece of fabric lying on the floor in front of his room. The Doctor frowned and crouched down to it, his face knotted into a thoughtful frown. Now who on earth would leave this? It was a scarf by the looks of it, pink, and covered with sequins. Only, what was it doing out on the landing? Could it be another 'gift' from the mysterious letter writer?

Heaving a shrug, the Doctor reached out and took the scarf in between his fingers. His hearts skipped a beat as he was pulled in to an odd falling sensation. Pictures flashed before his eyes, but they felt more like memories... an alleyway... a man, the writer of the letters... Moreaux... leaving Rose behind... Getting captured... escape – The Doctor gasped when he recognised Avoria: how long had it been? – then there was pain as he realised she was Ebony... making it back to the present day... rushing to Moreaux... Rose's torture... Oh, God. Rose. His own little sweet Rose. The Doctor stumbled with the sheer weight and intensity of the emotion that overtook him, unbound tears forming in his eyes. His hearts felt as though they would rip themselves from his entire system. He panted, seeing yet more memories. A terrifying darkness chasing him through the streets... the safety of the TARDIS... and then finally, here, where he was now.

The Doctor opened his eyes, panting. He had stumbled back into the room and slammed the door and was now leaning against the sofa. His muscles ached, though he couldn't understand why. He gazed down at the scarf in his hands and realised that whatever he had just seen was something that might have happened. Did he... had he...? It was just too much to think about it. He licked his lips with apprehension and found them dry. His eyes stung with tears, but he sniffed them back. Rose wasn't dead. She was lying in the room next door. He hadn't lost her. But he knew, now, that he wouldn't leave her. He knew exactly who was behind everything that was going on, and he also knew exactly how to fix it. He shook his head, trying to make his thoughts of self-loathing disappear. The Doctor took in a breath, intent on steadying his breathing.

Slowly, he turned to look at the bedroom door where Rose lay sleeping. He wouldn't leave her, not now. She would be by his side of every second, and he would never let her out of his sight. But what if she wasn't behind the door, tucked up in bed? What if she was already gone, torn away from him? What if he couldn't protect her? He shuddered with the thoughts of his fear. But, slowly, he forced his way to her bedroom door and hovered outside it, bringing his knuckles up to knock at the wood. The hollow sound echoed around the room. He hoped she would forgive him for waking her.

He heard her groan from inside and opened the door.

"Wakey, wakey, rise and shine," he said softly with a grin, slipping inside the room.

"Doctor..." Rose groaned sleepily from under the covers. "I'm tired..."

It almost surprised him that she answered him. He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face as he walked over to the bed, crouched down on his haunches and peeled the covers away from her face.

There she was, looking back at him, with wide, tired eyes, bleary make up and frizzy hair. God she was beautiful. The Doctor couldn't stop himself. He reached out a hand to cup her cheek and then found himself pulling her towards him, crushing her to his chest in a desperate hug whilst he buried his head in her neck. Her scent, her breath, her hair... just her. He'd missed it all so much, despite the fact that in reality she had been here all along. She wrapped her arms around surprisedly him, which was quite difficult considering the angle he was sat at. Slowly he relaxed and let her pull back a little, before bringing his lips to her forehead in a desperate kiss, his eyes closed to keep out the tears and his breathing staggered.

"Doctor..." Rose mumbled, reaching a hand to his face. He pulled back and gazed at her, blinking slowly. His eyes were red with uncried tears.

"Oh, God, what's happened?" she asked, catching a glimpse of his expression and sitting herself up, letting the covers fall around her like a pool.

The Doctor cleared his throat with some embarrassment, letting his hands fall to his sides. He hauled himself up to sit beside her on the bed, but kept his gaze intently on the floor.

"Nothing," he replied a little heavily, not looking at her. "I just... missed you."

Rose frowned and let out a sigh; that wasn't like him at all.

"I've only been asleep for a few hours," she laughed half-heartedly. "How're you gonna cope when I fancy going home?"

His head snapped towards her, his eyes looking at her pleadingly, as if she'd just shot him.

"You wouldn't – " he began desperately, but Rose reached out and punched him playfully on the arm.

"Not like that," she grinned. "You know me better than that. Nah, I just meant when I wanted to pop home for a quick visit. I know how you feel about Mum and my 'domesticates'."

"Oh," he said quietly, and his voice sounded like he was ashamed. He turned his head back to the carpet. "Good."

Rose frowned again, with worry and confusion. "Doctor, what's _wrong_? You're acting like you've seen a ghost, or something."

"Maybe I have and maybe I haven't," he sighed, his shoulders shrugging. Then he looked back to her, his eyes sparkling. Rose couldn't read the expression on his face, but she knew it wasn't pleasant. "Rose, I want you to promise me something," the Doctor said slowly, reaching for her hands. She let him take them, enveloping her delicate fingers with his own. She looked at him gently.

"Anything."

The slight traces of a smile began in the corners of his mouth. "Promise me you won't let me leave you. Promise me you'll stay by my side, even when I tell you to go."

She frowned. "Doctor, I – "

"Promise, Rose."

His voice was so defiant that she knew she didn't have a choice.

"Yeah," she nodded, giving his hands a squeeze. "Yeah, I promise. 'Course."

He nodded and squeezed her hand back, his smile growing.

"Where's all this come from...?" Rose asked carefully, eying him with worry. What on earth had he done while she was asleep?

He shook his head and grinned at her manically, all traces of sincerity apparently vanished.

"You apes, always so inquisitive," he laughed, standing up from the bed and dropping her hands. "Come on. We've got some monsters to fight, so you'd better get dressed."

Rose looked down to the dress she had fallen asleep in, then pointedly back to the Doctor.

"I _am_ dressed."

A pause as he looked at her, his eyebrow raised.

"Oh," he said, shrugging. "Okay then. Time to go."

He extended his hand, palm up. She didn't need any invitation other than that and accepted it in an instant, letting his strength pull her up from the bed and on to the floor beside him.

"Even half asleep, you're still more elegant than the rest of your species," he grinned proudly as he watched her ascent. She smiled at him sheepishly, before giving him a quick shove.

"Come on, then," she laughed. "Thought you said we had some monsters to find. I hope you didn't just wake me up for nothing."

The Doctor stumbled backwards and grinned. She had more strength than she looked, which was just as well. At least now he wouldn't lose her, and could put things right. He remembered, briefly, the scarf, which he'd stuffed into his pocket. As he led her out of the room and down the stairs, he promised that he would give it to Rose as a present, for being herself. As soon as they got out of this mess, however.

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It was strange, Rose thought, watching the Doctor go through different emotions. He had been frustrated with the receptionist, Luc, for not handing over a letter the Doctor shouldn't know anything about – quite how he knew about it in the first place Rose didn't know, and he had been evasive when she'd asked – and had finally had to resort to threatening the poor man until he had handed it over. He later let slip that he didn't really need the letter, he just wanted to make sure he followed his actions exactly. Rose had questioned that, too, but again he'd been evasive.

Then he had suddenly become all protective and, if Rose would admit it, a little possessive, again outside the hotel, after he'd returned to the key to their room. He had held her by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes, his blueness sparking like electricity. He'd made her swear to stay by him and let him protect her, no matter what. Rose had agreed somewhat sheepishly, wondering why he had changed moods so quickly.

Then he had caught her by the hand and for some reason the pair of them had run down the street into a little back alley, where he was now shouting pointlessly into the murky emptiness of it, his head craned against his neck as he looked up to the sky. There was something desperately angry in his voice.

"Moreaux, I know you can hear me and I know you're there, and I know that you're waiting until I leave the young woman here alone so you can capture and torture her to death. But I'm not letting her go, now way, no how, and if you don't show yourself right now, I am going to march to your house and personally destroy everything that ever meant any value to you. Starting with your Lady Rosaline!"

Rose tugged on the Doctor's hand gently, noticing his panting and his flashing eyes. He had become taken over by a rage she hadn't seen in a long time; not since the Dalek.

Reluctantly, he brought his head down to look at her.

"Sorry," he said softly, his eyes gazing at her. "Am I scaring you? I don't mean to scare you, it's just – "

"Doctor," Rose laughed quietly, shaking her head. "It's fine. Don't worry so much. I just don't see the point about yelling to an empty alleyway, yeah?"

He bit his bottom lip and turned his head back again, staring down the alley.

"It's not empty..." he said distantly, all too aware that Moreaux had laid a trap for him and was waiting until he could spring it. But the Doctor held all the aces now, and he just wanted to make sure that Rose was safe and that Moreaux got what was coming to him.

"Doctor," Rose said cautiously from his side, giving his hand a squeeze. He turned back to her immediately, with a soft smile on his face. "I know you're, like, an alien and you know all this stuff about galaxies and the universe, and all that... but last night you didn't have a clue what was going on and suddenly you're all yelling and running and confident. What's goin' on?"

He cleared his throat and then swallowed, his adam's apple quivering.

"I just... got a tip-off. That's all. A message."

"And this... 'message'," Rose replied, making the word 'message' sound rather intimidating in a husky voice. "It told you who's behind it all?"

"It told me a lot more than that," the Doctor muttered, walking past Rose and pulling her along behind him. "Come on. We're making a house call."

The Doctor hadn't let go of Rose's hands since he'd held it in the bedroom. If she were honest, her hand was becoming quite stiff now, as he had been squeezing quite tightly. She knew there was something he wasn't telling her and that there was some reason why he was keeping her close to him. Usually, she suspected, he would have gone off and done this on his own. He really was tricky to figure out; as soon as she thought she understood him, BANG, he came up with another way to startle her and keep her on her toes. Not that she really minded: it was quite nice to be the only one able – or at least partly able – to work him out. It added that extra 'oomph' to their friendship. Yes, that was it, she decided with a grin. He had the 'oomph factor', and it set him apart from every single one of her other friends. Or boyfriends. Not that the Doctor was her boyfriend, but she knew what she meant, and it was... Rose had managed to confuse herself more than she'd meant to, and her grin turned into a frown. It was only when she heard the Doctor chuckling at her side and realised that they'd stopped walking when she snapped herself out of her daydream.

"What?" she asked, with a small frown. He grinned at her, his blue eyes reflecting that of the morning's sky.

"Nothing," he beamed. "Just you. You're fantastic. You know that?"

Rose felt herself blushing, and bit her lips with a smile. "Yeah?" she asked bashfully, self consciously reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her messy, unbrushed hair. That she hadn't looked at since last night. Oh God, she must look like a mess, she realised.

But the Doctor, uncaring in his gentle ways, gave her arm a tug, forcing her to step closer to him. "Yeah," he smiled, then bent towards her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. What was with the forehead thing? Had he gone absolutely mad? He began walking again, down the narrow streets, and as Rose fell into step beside him, she questioned it.

She was amused to find that he blushed; or at the very least, his ears were tinged red. His face showed none of it, but Rose got the impression that he was more than embarrassed to be questioned about the way he treated her.

"Well, I dunno," he shrugged as they walked, the urgency in his step seemingly evaporated for now. "Thought that's what apes did."

Rose hid a smile. She was almost certain that that wasn't his reason, but she didn't push it. However, he ventured a further answer for her anyway as they walked, and she felt the grip on her hand tighten.

"Besides, you should know how special you are. Saves me having to remind you every time you ask."

Now it was Rose's turn to blush, though she grinned too. Something had definitely changed in the Doctor as she'd slept. It was almost as if he were a new man, unafraid to express how he felt about her. She couldn't help but feel slightly giddy at the thought that he cared about her so much; he had usually been vague and elusive in the past.

"Did you knock your head or something?" Rose grinned as they walked past an abandoned house.

"No," the Doctor replied, a small hint of hurt in his voice. "Why?"

"I dunno. You're just..." She trailed off, not being able to think of an appropriate word.

"Just what?" the Doctor persisted, leading her to the edge of a large square. He was somehow comforted to find that the TARDIS wasn't in it, remembering that he had left it there earlier. Or later, whenever it was. The fact that it wasn't there now showed that he was on a different timeline, right?

He wasn't about to let Rose get away with what she'd said now, even if he had only just got her back. Or hadn't lost her. Or wouldn't... he wasn't quite sure how he could remember something that hadn't happened yet and, by the looks of things, probably wouldn't happen, and it was beginning to give him a headache.

"Just... Different," Rose finished at last as they walked across the expansive square. There was a gorgeous statue in the centre of it and, as they walked past it, Rose felt herself strangely drawn to it. But the Doctor had taken to gazing up to the sky again, his eyes fixed on a black bird floating through the air towards the edge of the square and beyond.

"Come on," he said, forgetting their previous conversation and dragging Rose into a run beside him. "Time to put an end to all this."

Rose laughed as they ran across the square and up a wide, cobbled path.

"Don't think we've ever run _towards_ the aliens before, Doctor," she laughed as their feet thudded on the ground. There were people setting up tables and stalls beside the way they were running, into what looked like a marketplace. The Doctor looked to Rose and grinned.

"If you think this is a surprise, you just wait until you see who's behind all this."

"You make it sound like some sort of terrible magic trick! How'd you know all this?"

"A magician never reveals his secret, Rose," he grinned back at her as they ran. His hearts were pumping again, with an energy he knew would aid them. The plan of escape was suddenly forming very clearly in his mind. Thanks to the information from that scarf – the origin of which he could guess but would never know – he knew exactly what to expect from both Moreaux and Ebony and also knew exactly how he would fix it. It was so good to have a plan.

"Rose, to cut a long story short, I won't have a lot of time to do what I need to do and I need your help," he explained as they ran.

"Whatever you need," Rose confirmed as they branched off from the cobbled path and across a flat lawn of grass, surrounded by a thick verge of trees.

"There'll be a man, quite tall, goes by the name Moreaux. There'll also be a woman, black hair and a really white face. Her name's Ebony. Rose, at all costs, I want you to promise me you'll stay away from her. Leave her to me. But as far as Moreaux goes, I need you to do something for me. He'll have a device, a small, copper capsule thing; I need you to lure him away from Ebony and get it from him, while I keep her busy. He'll think you're a woman – Lady Rosaline – and you need to pretend to be her until you get that capsule off of him. Understand? As soon as you've got it, do that wonderful disappearing trick you do and come and find me. I can tweak its settings with the sonic screwdriver and put an end to all of this once and for all. If everything goes right, this town should go back to the way it was before any of this happened. Moreaux won't remember a thing about Ebony and her knowledge and he'll go back to living his own, stupid, pathetic little life."

"R-right," Rose stuttered as they pulled up to the thick trees. The Doctor stopped running, as did she. He turned to look at her, his eyes intensely tracing hers.

"It's all very simple," he said softly. "Find Moreaux, find that capsule then come find me. If I'm lucky, I can rid this world – and an old friend of mine – of a power-hungry manic."

"Oh, the usual then?" Rose grinned, her heart racing. The Doctor smiled back. "Stupid, irrational, off-the-top-of-your head plan? High risk of failure? Death? Possible end to the world?"

"That's the one!" His hand tightened around hers as he looked at her softly, his grin suddenly falling away. "His house is just through these trees. Guess he wasn't clever enough to find an impenetrable base. Ready?"

Rose nodded and smiled. "As always."

"Good. Then let's go."

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Moreaux was pacing the throne room impatiently. His plan set for the Doctor had failed, and he had no idea why or how. There was no way he could have known what was going on. Ebony was dealing her 'other half', so to speak, and had been less than impressed with his failure. She had made him swear that he would try again, and now he was trying desperately to come up with a new plan. Ebony had taken an instant interest in the Doctor; Moreaux got the feeling there was something going on between them that she wasn't telling him. There was a dot that wasn't being connected to the rest of the picture, and it was throwing the entire thing out of balance. What interest did he have with Rosaline anyway? She was perfectly content to be a part of his plan to rule France before, and suddenly she was almost a completely different person. Why had she betrayed him?

There was a loud crash from the foyer. Moreaux jumped and turned around, his eyes narrowing. He quickly sent the still guards around the room to investigate. After a moment or two there was another loud crash, and Moreaux had images of the table in the foyer being smashed. And then a loud, Northern voice rose up from nowhere.

"I had forgotten about the guards; you all right there Rose?"

The answer was strangled, as if she were fighting against one of the guards. Moreaux smiled; she had no chance.

"You – could – have – told – me," she panted, and this was then followed by another loud crash. Moreaux rushed out in time to see two people, the Doctor and what looked like Lady Rosaline, standing and panting, his guards nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the guards!" he demanded, surprised. The answer came from a slender woman who was descending the stairs with death in her eyes.

"Moreaux, you fool, it was a simple psychic brain pattern. No doubt the Doctor here adjusted it somehow, setting them free."

"That's right," he said happily stepping forwards and holding up his screwdriver triumphantly. He pointed to the front door, which was wide open. "Told them to run for their lives. Which I'd advise for you, too, but I don't think you'll listen."

Ebony let out a high, cold laugh.

"I don't know how you managed to make your way here, Doctor. But I assure you, no one can save you now." She turned on her heel to face Moreaux, her eyes narrowed. "Set the device how I told you. It should finish the Doctor nice and slowly as well as his tarty girlfriend."

"Oi!" Rose shouted, her eyes wide. "I am not tarty!"

She went to move for the woman on the stairs, but found that she couldn't. Her limbs wouldn't move. It was as if some sort of invisible glue had stuck her to the floor and she had no control. Moreaux, she realised, had revealed the capsule thing that the Doctor had been talking about. So much for his brilliant plan.

The Doctor didn't need his intelligence to tell him that Rose had been affected by Ebony's psychic control, and was thankful for the fact that his brain wavelength was different to hers. She couldn't hold both of them, he was sure. But he didn't have to time to release Rose as Moreaux was already fiddling with the various dials on the capsule that would surely kill him.

He grabbed for his sonic screwdriver and made a dive for Moreaux, wrestling the rounded capsule out of his hands desperately as he kept him to the floor. Moreaux shouted in anger, but the Doctor was fast and held his sonic screwdriver to the device as it kicked in to action. The capsule began to beep loudly and incessantly, its lights flashing hurriedly red, then blue, then red again.

He felt a cold hand on his shoulder as he looked up into the snarling face of Ebony, her features twisted into that of hate. She grabbed at him, making a desperate attempt to take the capsule and work it herself. Rose was stood helpless, being able to do nothing but watch as the Doctor wrestled against the two figures who were trying for the metal pod.

"Rose, shut your eyes!" she heard the Doctor shout desperately. She did so and, as soon as she had, the Doctor activated the switch for the device and prayed that he had set it right.

Rose kept her eyes shut as a blinding, white light filled the room. She felt a white hot pain burn through her with the intensity of an iron poker, and then a mass of writhing screams. She couldn't tell if the screams were coming from her, or from anyone else, but all she knew was that she had to keep her eyes shut. And then everything went dark, and quiet, and she sank to the floor.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rose was flying. She was lighter than air and floated through a serene red sky, her heart fluttering at the height she was at. Spread out below her was a beautiful world, quiet in the early morning. She smiled to herself, happy to feel this free. And then, suddenly, she stopped gliding and was falling, down and down, the ground rushing to meet her in a new splash of colour.

She opened her eyes with an intake of breath, feeling herself shake awake as she landed. The bright, white lights of the medical lab in the TARDIS greeted her, as did a warm hand on hers. She blinked and turned to see the Doctor standing beside her.

"Didn't think you'd be out for that long," he admitted a little guiltily, stroking her hand reassuringly with his thumb. "How are you feeling?"

She sat up, her head pounding with a headache that split itself right across her temples.

"Okay, I think. What happened? Where's that man and that woman? Who was screaming?"

The Doctor chuckled, before helping her on to the floor.

"Everything's all right," he said, gazing at her. Then he opened his arms and pulled her into a hug. "I know it's all been a bit much. And I can't really explain, either, so you're just going to have to trust me."

She pulled back and smiled at him. "I think I can do that."

"Good!" he beamed, taking her hand. "Now, there's someone I want you to meet. She's an old friend of mine: haven't seen her in years."

"Who is she?" Rose questioned as they stepped out of the med lab and down the corridors of the TARDIS to the control room.

"Her name's Avoria. I saved her planet a long time ago."

Rose walked into the consol room and almost gaped at the beautiful woman standing shyly towards the middle of it. Her auburn hair was cut finely around her smooth, kind features, and her eyes danced back at her as if they had fires burning in them.

"Hello," Rose greeted with a grin, and stepped forward to her. "I'm Rose."

Avoria's eyes flicked to the Doctor before she answered. "Yes, I know. The Doctor has told me about you."

"Has he, now?" she asked, turning back to look at him with a pleased grin on her face. "Well, I wouldn't listen to him. He thinks I'm just a stupid ape."

Rose laughed, but stopped when Avoria didn't. Her eyes glittered on her slowly, and her voice was entirely serious.

"I assure you, that is not what he thinks. In fact – "

"Well, this is cosy," the Doctor interrupted loudly, walking towards the pair. But behind his grin, Avoria could see that he didn't want to talk about what she was about to bring up. "I guess I don't have to wonder if you two would get on."

Rose smiled between both of them before she noticed their gazes locking for a moment and then the Doctor looking away. She hid her discomforted frown. Instead, she touched Avoria on the arm and led her to a sofa, positioned towards the outside of the TARDIS' consol room.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said slowly as they sat, taking in the beauty of the woman the Doctor was obviously fond of. "But who are you?"

Avoria laughed, light and pleasant. She looked up to the Doctor with fondness. "Nice to you know you have been talking about me," she teased kindly. The Doctor offered her a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. She turned back to Rose.

"I am Avoria. The Doctor and I met, many many years ago, on my home planet of Lithereal. He saved me and my people from... a threat. Without boring you with the minor details, he helped me confront a part of myself who wished to hurt others and cause pain, as well as saving our planet from certain destruction. We have him to thank for our lives."

Avoria looked to the Doctor fondly, who had began to tap at the controls needlessly, before going on with her story

"I was tricked in to coming to Earth, and that part of me threatened to do great harm. She would have managed too, were it not for the Doctor and his clever work with the Terathon."

"That's the... capsule thing that the Doctor wanted, yeah?"

"She's clever!" Avoria laughed, her voice kind. The Doctor looked up from his controls and let a fond smile fall on his face as he looked at Rose.

"Yeah, she is," he replied, his eyes on her. Rose felt herself blushing and looked away.

"Well, to cut a long story short: the Terathon is made to destroy beings who deal with time. Dangerous in the wrong hands, as it very nearly was. But the Doctor set it carefully to kill only those on a certain frequency of wavelength. When he activated it Ebony was destroyed, leaving only myself in her place."

Rose's eyes widened. "You mean, you're Ebony? You were the one who...?"

"Not quite, Rose," the Doctor piped up, heaving a sigh and watching the pair of them. "It wouldn't be fair to blame Avoria for what's happened. Two people in one body, I guess, though it's a little more complex than that. She had no control over Ebony's actions."

"Right," Rose said slowly, looking between the Doctor and Avoria. "So Ebony's the one behind it all, then? And now she's gone?"

The Doctor nodded with a grin.

"Moreaux, and everyone else affected by Ebony's work, won't remember a thing. Time will have continued as if she had never found her way to the planet in the first place, and they'll all go back to their mundane little lives while we get to roam the universe."

"Sounds about right," Rose sighed cheerfully. She wondered, idly, about the Doctor's implied 'we', but Avoria answered before she could ask.

"I shall be getting back to my own planet. It has been such a long time... I wonder, will they welcome me?"

"They'd better," the Doctor replied, almost darkly. "I didn't just rescue you from Earth to have you torn to shreds by revengeful relatives. D'you want me to escort you back? I'm living proof that Ebony doesn't control you any more."

Avoria smiled, shook her head and stood, her deep eyes on the Doctor. Rose cleared her throat and stayed sitting, somehow aware of being very much the third person. She turned her head to stare defiantly at the TARDIS wall while the Doctor took Avoria gently by the arm and led her to the door. She tried her best not to eavesdrop, but somehow their words found themselves to her nonetheless.

"I suppose this'll be something of a shock, then?" the Doctor asked and out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw him take her hand. She fought down the wave of jealously that rose spontaneously within her; she had no right to be jealous, after all.

"That depends. When did you bring me back?"

"If my timing's right, probably about two minutes after you..."

There was a pause, and Avoria studied him carefully.

"...Left?" she offered after a while. The Doctor pulled his manic grin.

"You could call it that." He let his eyes roam the face of the woman in front of him, the woman he had saved more than once in more than one way. He cast a small glance over to Rose, who was still sat on the sofa, and smiled shyly. "You know, if things were different, I would – "

"You don't need to explain, Doctor," Avoria cut across with a wise smile, before he said too much. "I had my chance, and I had my time. You know the path I chose all too well, though I won't say I would choose the same given that choice again. Our lives are what we make them, and I have learned to accept that. And now it's time for you, as well."

The Doctor gave her a frown and watched, confused, as Avoria slipped her hand out of his and walked back over to Rose. She jumped when Avoria touched her on the shoulder, then smiled and stood. She didn't complain as she was led by the hand over to where the Doctor was standing.

Avoria stood for a moment, between the two, her back to the TARDIS door, her eyes forward on the pair. Then, carefully, she reached for Rose's hand and the Doctor's, then touched them together, where they stayed held after she let go. She looked at each of them pointedly.

"You will have learned, Doctor, not to take anything for granted. Whatever choices you make will have consequences, as will the choices you do not."

The Doctor's hand tightened on Rose's, who squeezed back, but he was still looking with a frown to Avoria. Why did he get the feeling the Seer knew more than she was letting on? She smiled at him and gave him a small bow of the head. Then, she stepped towards him and spoke quietly in his ear.

"Be sure not to spend too much time learning the moves of the dance; it is not where you have stepped, or where you will step that it is important. What matters is the companion in your arms as you lead them."

She stepped back, her eyes sparkling with wonder. The Doctor's eyebrows rose and he cast a quick glance to down to his and Rose's hands before speaking.

"You had a peek at my future, didn't you?" he asked almost accusingly, though there was humour in his voice. A smile twitched at the corner of Avoria's mouth.

"I just see the paths that have been taken and the paths that are yet to be walked. It is you who chooses where to put your feet; I am merely advising you as to what is better suited to your shoes."

With that, she raised an eyebrow and turned towards the doors. She opened them with a wonderful grace, and a glorious, white light bathed the TARDIS consol room. Rose had to squint and put a hand up to shield her eyes from the light. Avoria bade them a last farewell, then disappeared into the hazy light and out of the TARDIS doors. Of their own accord, the doors swung shut, leaving Rose and the Doctor alone.

He cleared his throat and turned to look at her, a wonderful grin on his face.

"Seers, they're called. Wonderful people; but they don't half give you a headache with all their metaphors. Sometimes I wonder if they even know what they're talking about."

Rose burst out laughing, her laughter spreading through her like thick, golden honey. "Now you know how _I_ feel," she teased, knocking herself against the Doctor's shoulder good-naturedly. "And what was she on about with all that 'dancing' and 'path' stuff?"

"Beats me," the Doctor shrugged, stepping over to the controls. Rose followed, her hand still in his. "I think she thought she was giving me advice."

"Seems to me like she was speaking a load of rubbish."

"Probably. But I think I know what she was getting at."

"Yeah?" Rose asked, hardly daring to hope. She wasn't entirely stupid: there had definitely been something to do with her and the Doctor in everything Avoria had said.

"Yup!" the Doctor confirmed with a boyish grin. He let his eyes fall on Rose for a minute and their gazes locked, the entire of the universe falling away around them. Then, suddenly, he blinked and frowned, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "Oh, and, I got you this. Just a small thing from one of the stalls in the marketplace."

From out of his pocket, he pulled the pink scarf, decorated with sequins. Rose nearly gasped when she saw it, and pulled her hand out of the Doctor's to hold it.

"It's beautiful," she said with wonder, her eyes roaming the soft material. The Doctor took in her pleased face and was satisfied.

"Hand made," he added, with a grin. Rose looked up to him with a small smile. "Yup, sewn by the hands of a blind French woman who only had the tiniest bit of silk left. She worked for three days on that, I hope you know, working her fingers to the bone. She poured her heart and soul into that little piece of fabric, which you so easily wrap around you neck."

Rose caught his eye and snorted as she lifted the scarf up behind her neck and let it rest on her shoulders.

"You," she said affectionately, reaching for his hand again, "Are so full of it. D'you know that?"

"Only 'cause you tell me so every time I say something," the Doctor replied with a mock pout, letting their fingers link freely together. Their eyes caught each other like two lonely souls on separate horizons, bound together by impossible means.

The Doctor reached up a hand to Rose's cheek, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. He leant forwards and, for the final time that day, let his lips brush tenderly against Rose's forehead. She smiled. And then, before she could stop herself, before the words had even entered her brain, let alone her mouth, she heard herself say,

"One of these days, I'm gonna have to tell you where my mouth is."

The Doctor stood back a little, his hand dropping from her cheek, but his face was hiding such a laugh that Rose felt herself feeling it too, despite the blush that had risen to flood her cheeks.

"One day it is, then," he grinned, surprised by how easy he felt with his Rose. He looked up at the roof of the TARDIS and let out a heavy sigh, swinging their arms as he began to circle the controls excitedly. The grip on his hand tightened and he found himself looking at her again, his eyes shining with warmth.

"So," he said at length, echoing the words he had spoken which had led them on their adventure, "Where to now?"


End file.
